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ADELAIDE  A.  PROCTER. 


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BOSTON: 
FIELDS,     OSGOOD,    &    CO., 

SUCCESSOBS   TO   TICKNOR   AND   FIELDS. 

1869. 


A/ 


AUTHOR    S     EDITION. 


University  Press: 

Welch,    Bigelow,    and   Company, 

Cambridge. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
LEGENDS  and  Ltrics:  a  Book  op  Verses. 

First  Series I 

jj|j        The  Angel's  Story  5 

~j  WtsfQ        Ecaoes iz 

A  False  Genius i  J 

My  Picture '4 

Judge  not >6 

Friend  Sorrow        ■ 17 

One  by  One >8 

True  Honors >9 

A  Woman's  Question zS 

The  Three  Rulers          2.9 

A  Dead  Past 5° 

A  Doubting  Heart 3' 

A  Student 33 

A  Knight  Errant 34 

Linger,  0  Gentle  Time 36 

Homeward  Bound 37 

Life  and  Death 44 

Now 45 

Cleansing  Fires 47 

The  Voice  of  the  Wind 48 

Treasures 5° 

Shining  Stars •  51 

Waiting 5* 

The  Cradle-Song  of  the  Poor        ....  54 

Be  Strong          .        .        .        .        .        ...        ■  S6 


iv  content;;. 

God's  Gifts    .........  57 

A  Tomb  in  Ghent     .......  59 

The  Angel  of  Death 68 

A  Drenm 69 

The  Present 70 

Changes 71 

Strive,  Wait,  and  Pray 72 

A  Lament  for  the  Summer       .        .        .        .        -11 

The  Unknown  Grave 74 

Give  me  thy  Heart 75 

The  Wayside  Inn 78 

Voices  of  the  Past 84 

The  Dark  Side 85 

A  First  Sorrow 87 

Murmurs 88 

Give 90 

My  Journal 91 

A  Chain 94 

The  Pilgrims 95 

Incompleteness         ....         ...  96 

A  Legend  of  Bregenz 98 

A  Farewell 104 

Sowing  and  Reaping 105 

The  Storm                 106 

Words 107 

A  Love  Token 109 

A  Tryst  with  Death no 

Fidelis ill 

A  Shadow n  j 

The  Sailor  Boy 114 

A  Crown  of  Sorrow 127 

The  Lesson  of  the  War 127 

The  Two  Spirits 130 

A  Little  Longer 13} 

Grief 13J 

The  Triumph  of  Time IJ9 

A  Parting 140 


CONTENTS.  v 

The  Golden  Gate H* 

Phantoms '4J 

Thankfulness 14S 

Home- Sickness 146 

Wishes 148 

The  Peace  of  God 149 

Life  in  Death  and  Death  in  Life  .        .        .        .  1 5 1 

Recollections •         •  '54 

Illusion 156 

A  Vision 158 

Pictures  in  the  Fire 160 

The  Settlers 162 

Hush! 164 

Hours 16s 

The  Two  Interpreters 167 

Comfort 169 

Home  at  Last 171 

Unexpressed 17* 

Because 17J 

Rest  at  Evening 17S 

A  Retrospect 176 

Legends  and  Lyrics  :  a  Book  op  Verses. 

Second  Series     .......  179 

A  Legend  of  Provence 181 

Envy 192 

Over  the  Mountain l<)J 

Beyond 194 

A  Warning        .......  196 

Maximus 198 

Optimus 199 

A  Lost  Chord 201 

Too  Late zoi 

The  Requital 205 

Returned — "Missing" 207 

In  the  Wood 209 

Two  Worlds 210 


vi  CONTENTS. 

A  New  Mother 212 

Give  Place 221 

My  Will 222 

King  and  Slave 224 

A  Chant 2x5 

Dream-Life 227 

Rest 228 

The  Tyrant  and  the  Captive 230 

The  Carver's  Lesson 232 

Three  Roses 234 

My  Picture  Gallery 235 

Sent  to  Ileaven 238 

Never  Again 240 

Listening  Angels 241 

Golden  Days 243 

Philip  and  Mildred 244 

Borrowed  Thoughts. 

I.  From  "Lavater" 256 

II.  From  "  Phantastes "          ....  257 
EEL  From  u  Lost  Alice"               .        .        .        .258 

IV.  From    *    *    * 259 

Light  and  Shade 260 

A  Changeling 263 

Discouraged 264 

If  Thou  couldst  know 267 

The  Warrior  to  his  Dead  Bride         ....  168 

A  Letter 269 

A  Comforter 271 

Unseen 275 

A  Remembrance  of  Autumn 276 

Three  Evenings  in  a  Life 277 

The  Wind 292 

Expectation .  293 

An  Ideal 294 

Our  Dead 296 

A  Woman's  Answer 297 

The  Story  of  the  Faithful  Soul     ....  299 


CONTENTS. 


A  Contrast 

The  Bride's  Dream 

The  Angel's  Bidding 

Spring   . 

Evening  Hymn 

The  Inner  Chamber 

Hearts 

Two  Loves 

A  Womarrs  Last  Word 

Past  and  Present 

For  the  Future 

Ciiaplet  of  Verses. 
The  Army  of  the  Lord 
The  Star  of  the  Sea 
The  Sacred  Heart 
The  Names  of  Our  Lady 
A  Chaplet  of  Flowers 
Kvrie  Eleisou 
The  Annunciation 
An  Appeal 
The  Jubilee  of  1S50 
Christmas  Flowers    . 
A  Desire 
Our  Daily  Bread 
Threefold 

Confido  et  Conquiesco 
Ora  pro  Me     . 
The  Church  in  1S49 
Fishers  of  Men 
The  Old  Year's  Blessing 
Evening  Chant 
A  Christmas  Carol 
Our  Titles      . 
Ministering  Angels 
The  Shrines  of  Mary 
The  Homeless  Poor 


vn 

30J 
30s 
307 
309 
311 
3iz 

314 
316 
318 

319 
310 


331 
336 

337 
340 

343 
346 

348 
350 
353 
355 
357 
359 
360 
361 
363 
364 
36S 
366 
368 
370 
371 
373 
374 
381 


viii  CONTENTS. 

Milly's  Expiation j8g 

A  Castle  in  the  Air ^oj 

Per  Pacem  ad  Lueem 4oj 

A  Legend 4o4 

Birthday  Gifts 406 

A  Beggar 4I , 

Links  with  Heaven 413 

Homeless 4i4 


LEGENDS    AND    LYRICS. 

A  BOOK  OF  VERSES. 
FIRST   SERIES. 


c£*X?J 


DEDICATED 

TO 

MATILDA    M.    HAYS. 

"Our  tokens  of  love  are  for  the  most  part  barbarous. 
Cold  and  lifeless,  because  they  do  not  represent  our  life. 
The  only  gift  is  a  portion  of  thyself.  Therefore  let  the 
farmer  give  his  corn  ;  the  miner,  a  gem  ;  the  sailor,  coral 
and  shells ;  the  painter,  his  picture  ;  and  the  poet,  his  po- 
em."—  Emerson's  Essays. 

A  A  P. 

May,  1858. 


THE    ANGEL'S    STORY. 


HROUGH  the  blue  and  frosty  heavens 
Christmas  stars  were  shining  bright; 
Glistening  lamps  throughout  the  City 
Almost  matched  their  gleaming  light ; 
While  the  winter  snow  was  lying, 
And  the  winter  winds  were  sighing, 
Long  ago,  one  Christmas  night 

"While,  from  every  tower  and  steeple, 
Pealing  bells  were  sounding  clear, 

(Never  with  such  tones  of  gladness, 

'    Save  when  Christmas  time  is  near,) 

Many  a  one  that  night  was  merry 
Who  had  toiled  through  all  the  year. 

That  night  saw  old  wrongs  forgiven, 

Friends,  long  parted,  reconciled  ; 
Voices  all  unused  to  laughter, 

Mournful  eyes  that  rarely  smiled, 
Trembling  hearts  that  feared  the  morrow, 

From  their  anxious  thoughts  beguiled. 


THE  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

Rich  and  poor  felt  love  and  blessing 
From  the  gracious  season  fall ; 

Joy  and  plenty  in  the  cottage, 
Peace  and  feasting  in  the  hall ; 

And  the  voices  of  the  children 
Ringing  clear  above  it  all ! 

Yet  one  house  was  dim  and  darkened; 

Gloom,  and  sickness,  and  despair, 
Dwelling  in  the  gilded  chambers, 

Creeping  up  the  marble  stair, 
Even  stilled  the  voice  of  mourning,— 

For  a  child  lay  dying  there. 

Silken  curtains  fell  around  him, 
Velvet  carpets  hushed  the  tread, 

Many  costly  toys  were  lying, 
All  unheeded,  by  his  bed ; 

And  his  tangled  golden  ringlets 
Were  on  downy  pillows  spread. 

The  skill  of  that  mighty  City 

To  save  one  little  life  was  vain,  — 

One  little  thread  from  being  broken, 

One  fatal  word  from  being  spoken ; 
Nay,  his  very  mother's  pain, 

And  the  mighty  love  within  her, 
Could  not  give  him  health  again. 

So  she  knelt  there  still  beside  him, 
She  alone  with  strength  to  smile, 

Promising  that  he  should  suffer 
No  more  in  a  little  while, 

Murmuring  tender  song  and  story 
Weary  hours  to  begudc. 


THE  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

Suddenly  an  unseen  Presence 

Checked  those  constant  moaning  cries, 
Stilled  the  little  heart's  quick  fluttering, 

Raised  those  blue  and  wondering  eyes, 
Fixed  on  some  mysterious  vision, 

With  a  startled  sweet  surprise. 

For  a  radiant  angel  hovered, 

Smiling,  o'er  the  little  bed  ; 
White  his  raiment,  from  his  shoulders 

Snowy  dove-like  pinions  spread, 
And  a  starlike  light  was  shining 

In  a  Glory  round  his  head. 

While,  with  tender  love,  the  angel, 

Leaning  o'er  the  little  nest, 
In  his  arms  the  sick  child  folding, 

Laid  him  gently  on  his  breast, 
Sobs  and  waitings  told  the  mother 

That  her  darling  was  at  rest. 

So  the  angel,  slowly  rising, 

Spread  his  wings,  and  through  the  air 
Bore  the  child,  and,  while  he  held  him 

To  his  heart  with  loving  care, 
Placed  a  branch  of  crimson  roses 

Tenderly  beside  him  there. 

While  the  child,  thus  clinging,  floated 
Towards  the  mansions  of  the  Blest, 

Gazing  from  his  shining  guardian 
To  the  flowers  upon  his  breast, 

Thus  the  angel  spake,  still  smiling 
On  the  little  heavenly  guest : 


TEE  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

"  Know,  clear  little  one,  that  Heaven 
Does  no  earthly  thing  disdain, 

Man's  poor  joys  find  there  an  echo 
Just  as  surely  as  his  pain  ; 

Love,  on  earth  so  feebly  striving, 
Lives  divine  in  Heaven  again ! 

"  Once  in  that  great  town  below  us, 

In  a  poor  and  narrow  street, 
Dwelt  a  little  sickly  orphan ; 

Gentle  aid,  or  pity  sweet, 
Never  in  life's  rugged  pathway 

Guided  his  poor  tottering  feet. 

"  All  the  striving  anxious  forethought 
That  should  only  come  with  age 

"Weighed  upon  his  baby  spirit, 

Showed  him  soon  life's  sternest  page  ; 

Grim  Want  was  his  nurse,  and  Sorrow 
Was  his  only  heritage. 

"All  too  weak  for  childish  pastimes, 

Drearily  the  hours  sped ; 
On  his  hands  so  small  and  trembling 

Leaning  his  poor  aching  head, 
Or,  through  dark  and  painful  hours, 

Lying  sleepless  on  his  bed. 

"  Dreaming  strange  and  longing  fancies 

Of  cool  forests  far  away  ; 
And  of  rosy,  happy  children, 

Laughing  merrily  at  play, 
Coming  home  through  green  lanes,  bearing 

Trailing  boughs  of  blooming  May. 


THE  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

"  Scarce  a  glimpse  of  azure  h?avcn 
Gleamed  above  that  narrow  street, 

And  the  sultry  air  of  summer 

(That  you  call  so  warm  and  sweet) 

Fevered  the  poor  orphan,  dwelling 
In  the  crowded  alley's  heat. 

"  One  bright  day,  with  feeble  footsteps 
Slowly  forth  he  tried  to  crawl, 

Through  the  crowded  city's  pathways, 
Till  he  reached  a  garden-wall, 

Where  'mid  princely  halls  and  mansions 
Stood  the  lordliest  of  all. 

"  There  were  trees  with  giant  branches, 
Velvet  glades  where  shadows  hide  ; 

There  were  sparkling  fountains  glancing, 
Flowers,  which  in  luxuriant  pride 

Even  wafted  breaths  of  perfume 
To  the  child  who  stood  outside. 

"He  against  the  gate  of  iron 

Pressed  his  wan  and  wistful  face, 

Gazing  with  an  awe-struck  pleasure 
At  the  glories  of  the  place  ; 

Never  had  his  brightest  day-dream 
Shone  with  half  such  wondrous  grace. 

"  You  were  playing  in  that  garden, 
Throwing  blossoms  in  the  air, 

Laughing  when  the  petals  floated 
Downwards  on  your  golden  hair ; 

And  the  fond  eyes  watching  o'er  you, 

And  the  splendor  spread  before  you, 
Told  a  House's  Hope  was  there. 


io  THE  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

"  "When  your  servants,  tired  of  seeing 
Such  a  face  of  want  and  woe, 

Turning  to  the  ragged  orphan, 
Gave  him  coin,  and  bade  him  go, 

Down  his  cheeks  so  thin  and  wasted 
Bitter  tears  began  to  flow. 

"  But  that  look  of  childish  sorrow 
On  your  tender  child-heart  fell, 

And  you  plucked  the  reddest  roses 
From  the  tree  you  loved  so  well, 

Passed  them  through  the  stern  cold  grating, 
Gently  bidding  him  '  Farewell ! ' 

"  Dazzled  by  the  fragrant  treasure 
And  the  gentle  voice  he  heard, 

In  the  poor  forlorn  boy's  spirit, 
Joy,  the  sleeping  Seraph,  stirred; 

In  his  hand  he  took  the  flowers, 
In  his  heart  the  loving  word. 

"  So  he  crept  to  his  poor  garret ; 

Poor  no  more,  but  rich  and  bright, 
For  the  holy  dreams  of  childhood  — 

Love,  and  Best,  and  Hope,  and  Light  — 
Floated  round  the  orphan's  pillow 

Through  the  starry  summer  night. 

"  Day  dawned,  yet  the  visions  lasted ; 

All  too  weak  to  rise  he  lay  ; 
Did  he  dream  that  none  spake  harshly,  — 

All  were  strangely  kind  that  day  1 
Surely  then  his  treasured  roses 

Must  have  charmed  all  ills  away. 


THE  ANGEL'S  STORY.  u 

"And  he  smiled,  though  they  were  fading; 

One  hy  one  their  leaves  were  shed ; 
'Such  bright  things  could  never  perish, 

They  would  hlooin  again,'  he  said. 
"When  the  next  day's  sun  had  risen 

Child  and  flowers  both  were  dead. 

"  Know,  dear  little  one  !  our  Father 

Will  no  gentle  deed  disdain : 
Love  on  the  cold  earth  beginning 

Lives  divine  in  Heaven  again, 
While  the  angel  hearts  that  beat  there 

Still  all  tender  thoughts  retain." 

So  the  angel  ceased,  and  gently 

O'er  his  little  burthen  leant; 
While  the  child  gazed  from  the  shining, 

Loving  eyes  that  o'er  him  bent, 
To  the  blooming  roses  by  him, 

Wondering  what  that  mystery  meant. 

Thus  the  radiant  angel  answered, 
And  with  tender  meaning  smiled : 

"  Ere  your  childlike,  loving  spirit, 
Sin  and  the  hard  world  defiled, 

God  has  given  me  leave  to  seek  you,— 
I  was  once  that  little  child  !  " 


In  the  church-yard  of  that  city 
Rose  a  tomb  of  marble  rare, 

Decked,  as  soon  as  Spring  awakened, 
With  her  buds  and  blossoms  fair,  — 

And  a  humble  grave  beside  it,  — 
No  one  knew  who  rested  there. 


12  ECHOES. 


ECHOES. 


TILL  the  angel  stars  are  shining, 
Still  the  rippling  -waters  flow, 
But  the  angel-voice  is  silent 
That  I  heard  so  long  ago. 
Hark!  the  echoes  murmur  low, 
Long  ago  ! 

Still  the  wood  is  dim  and  lonely, 
Still  the  plashing  fountains  play, 

But  the  past  and  all  its  beauty, 
Whither  has  it  fled  away  ? 
Hark  !  the  mournful  echoes  say, 
Fled  away ! 

Still  the  bird  of  night  complaineth, 
(Xow,  indeed,  her  song  is  pain,) 

Visions  of  my  happy  hours, 
Do  I  call  and  call  in  vain  ? 
Hark !  the  echoes  cry  again, 
All  in  vain! 

Cease,  0  echoes,  mournful  echoes! 

Once  I  loved  your  voices  well ; 
Now  my  heart  is  sick  and  weary.  — 

Days  of  old,  a  long  farewell ! 

Hark !  the  echoes  sad  and  dreary 
Cry  farewell,  farewell ! 


A  FALSE  GENIUS. 


A  FALSE    GENIUS. 


See  a  Spirit  by  thy  side, 
Purple-winged  and  eagle-eyed, 
Looking  like  a  heavenly  guide. 


Though  he  seem  so  bright  and  fair, 
Ere  thou  trust  his  proffered  care, 
Pause  a  little,  and  beware  ! 

If  he  bid  thee  dwell  apart, 
Tending  some  ideal  smart 
In  a  sick  and  coward  heart ; 

In  self-worship  wrapped  alone, 
Dreaming  thy  poor  griefs  are  grown 
More  than  other  men  have  known ; 

Dwelling  in  some  cloudy  sphere, 
Though  God's  work  is  waiting  here, 
And  God  deigneth  to  be  near ; 

If  his  torch's  crimson  glare 
Show  thee  evil  everywhere, 
Tainting  all  the  wholesome  air ; 


While  -with  strange  distorted  choice, 
Still  disdaining  to  rejoice, 
Thou  wilt  hear  a  wailing  voice ; 


l4  MY  PICTURE. 

If  a  simple,  humble  heart 
Seem  to  thee  a  meaner  part. 
Than  thy  noblest  aim  and  art ; 

If  he  bid  thee  bow  before 
Crowned  Mind  and  nothing  more, 
The  great  idol  men  adore ; 


And  with  starry  veil  enfold 

Sin,  the  trailing  serpent  old, 

Till  his  scales  shine  out  like  gold ; 

Though  his  words  seem  true  and  wise, 
Soul,  I  say  to  thee,  Arise, 
He  is  a  Demon  in  disguise  1 


MY  PICTUEE. 


TAND  this  way  —  more  near  the  win- 
dow— 

By  my  desk  —  you  see  the  light 
Falling  on  my  picture  better  — 

Thus  I  see  it  wliile  I  write ! 


Who  the  head  may  be  I  know  not, 

But  it  has  a  student  air ; 
"With  a  look  half  sad,  half  stately, 

Grave  sweet  eyes  and  flowing  hair. 


MY  PICTURE.  ii 

Little  care  I  who  the  painter, 

How  obscure  a  name  he  bore ; 
Nor,  when  some  have  named  Velasquez, 

Did  I  value  it  the  more. 

As  it  is,  I  would  not  give  it 

For  the  rarest  piece  of  art ; 
It  has  dwelt  with  mc,  and  listened 

To  the  secrets  of  my  heart. 

Many  a  time,  when  to  my  garret, 

Weary,  I  returned  at  night, 
It  has  seemed  to  look  a  welcome 

That  has  made  my  poor  room  bright 

Many  a  time,  when  ill  and  sleepless, 
I  have  watched  the  quivering  gleam 

Of  my  lamp  upon  that  picture, 
Till  it  faded  in  my  dream. 

When  dark  days  have  come,  and  friendship 
Worthless  seemed,  and  life  in  vain, 

That  bright  friendly  smile  has  sent  me 
Boldly  to  my  task  again. 

Sometimes  when  hard  need  has  pressed  m» 

To  bow  down  where  I  despise, 
I  have  read  stern  words  of  counsel 

In  those  sad,  reproachful  eyes. 

Nothing  that  my  brain  imagined, 
Or  my  weary  hand  has  wrought, 

But  it  watched  the  dim  Idea 

Spring  forth  into  armed  Thought. 


1 6  JUDGE  NOT. 

It  has  smiled  on  my  successes, 

Raised  me  when  my  hopes  -were  low, 

And  by  turns  has  looked  upon  me 
With  all  the  loving  eyes  I  know. 

Do  you  wonder  that  my  picture 
Has  become  so  like  a  friend  ?  — 

It  has  seen  my  life's  beginnings, 
It  shall  stay  and  cheer  the  end ! 


JUDGE   NOT. 


fUDGE  not ;  the  workings  of  his  brain 
And  of  his  heart  thou  canst  not  see-, 
What  looks  to  thy  dim  eyes  a  stain, 
In  God's  pure  light  may  only  be 
A  scar,  brought  from  some  well-won  field, 
Where  thou  wouldst  only  faint  and  yield. 

The  look,  the  air,  that  frets  thy  sight, 

May  be  a  token,  that  below 
The  soul  has  closed  in  deadly  fight 

With  some  infernal  fiery  foe, 
Whose  glance  would  scorch  thy  smiling  grace, 
And  cast  thee  shuddering  on  thy  face  ! 

The  fall  thou  darest  to  despise  — 
May  be  the  angel's  slackened  hand 

Has  suffered  it,  that  he  may  rise 
And  take  a  firmer,  surer  stand  ; 

Or,  trusting  less  to  earthly  things, 

May  henceforth  learn  to  use  his  wings. 


FRIEND  SORROW  t7 

And  judge  none  lost ;  but  wait  and  see, 

With  hopeful  pity,  not  disdain ; 
The  depth  of  the  abyss  may  be 

The  measure  of  the  height  of  pain 
And  love  and  glory  that  may  raise 
This  soul  to  God  in  after  days  ! 


FRIEND   SORROW. 

0  not  cheat  thy  Heart  and  tell  her, 
"  Grief  will  pass  away, 
Hope  for  fairer  times  in  future, 
And  forget  to-day."  — 
Tell  her,  if  you  will,  that  sorrow- 
Need  not  come  in  vain ; 
Tell  her  that  the  lesson  taught  her 
Far  outweighs  the  pain. 

Cheat  her  not  with  the  old  comfort, 

"  Soon  she  will  forget,"  — 
Bitter  truth,  alas  !  but  matter 

Rather  for  regret ; 
Bid  her  not  "  Seek  other  pleasures, 

Turn  to  other  things  "  :  — 
Rather  nurse  her  caged  sorrow 

Till  the  captive  sings. 

Rather  bid  her  go  forth  bravely, 

And  the  stranger  greet ; 
Not  as  foe,  with  spear  and  buckler, 

But  as  dear  friends  meet ; 

z 


!g  ONE  BY  ONE. 

Bid  her  -with  a  strong  clasp  hold  her, 

By  her  dusky  'wings, 
Listening  for  the  murmured  blessing 

Sorrow  always  brings. 


ONE   BY   ONE. 

NE  by  one  the  sands  are  flowing, 
One  by  one  the  moments  fall ; 
Some  are  coming,  some  are  going; 
Do  not  strive  to  grasp  them  all. 

One  by  one  thy  duties  wait  thee, 
Let  thy  whole  strength  go  to  each, 

Let  no  future  dreams  elate  thee, 

Learn  thou  first  what  these  can  teach. 

One  by  one  (bright  gifts  from  Heaven) 
Joys  are  sent  thee  here  below ; 

Take  them  readily  when  given, 
Beady  too  to  let  them  go. 

One  by  one  thy  griefs  shall  meet  thee, 

Do  not  fear  an  armed  band ; 
One  will  fade  as  others  greet  thee ; 

Shadows  passing  tlirough  the  land. 

Do  not  look  at  life's  long  sorrow ; 

See  how  small  each  moment's  pain, 
God  will  help  thee  for  to-morrow, 

So  each  day  begh*  again. 


TRUE  HONORS.  19 

Every  hour  that  fleets  so  slowly 

Has  its  task  to  do  or  bear ; 
Luminous  the  crown,  and  holy, 

When  each  gem  is  set  with  care. 

Do  not  linger  with  regretting, 
Or  for  passing  hours  despond ; 

Nor,  the  daily  toil  forgetting, 
Look  too  eagerly  beyond. 

Hours  are  golden  links,  God's  token, 
Reaching  heaven  ;  but  one  by  one 

Take  them,  lest  the  chain  be  broken 
Ere  the  pilgrimage  be  done. 


TRUE   HONORS. 

'  S  my  darling  tired  already, 
Tired  of  her  day  of  play  ? 
Draw  your  little  stool  beside  me> 
(Sbii^l        Smooth  this  tangled  hair  away. 
Can  she  put  the  logs  together, 

Till  they  make  a  cheerful  blaze  1 
Shall  her  blind  old  Uncle  tell  her 
Something  of  his  youthful  days  ? 

Hark  !     The  wind  among  the  cedars 
Waves  their  white  arms  to  and  fro ; 

I  remember  how  I  watched  them 
Sixty  Christmas  Days  ago  : 

Then  I  dreamt  a  glorious  vision 
Of  great  deeds  to  crown  each  year? 


to  TRUE  HONORS. 

Sixty  Christmas  Days  have  found  me 
Useless,  helpless,  blind  —  and  here ! 

Yes,  I  feel  my  darling  stealing 

Warm  soft  finders  into  mine : 
Shall  I  tell  her  what  I  fancied 

In  that  strange  old  dream  of  mine  1 
I  was  kneeling  by  the  window, 

Reading  how  a  noble  band, 
With  the  red  cross  on  their  breastplates, 

Went  to  gain  the  Holy  Land. 

While  with  eager  eyes  of  wonder 

Over  the  dark  page  I  bent, 
Slowly  twilight  shadows  gathered 

Till  the  letters  came  and  went ; 
Slowly,  till  the  night  was  round  me ; 

Then  my  heart  beat  loud  and  fast, 
For  I  felt  before  I  saw  it 

That  a  spirit  near  me  passed. 

Then  I  raised  my  eyes,  and,  shining 

Where  the  moon's  first  ray  was  bright, 
Stood  a  winged  Angel-warrior 

Clothed  and  panoplied  in  light : 
So,  with  Heaven's  love  upon  him, 

Stern  in  calm  and  resolute  will, 
Looked  St.  Michael,  —  does  the  picture 

Hang  in  the  old  cloister  still  ? 

Threefold  were  the  dreams  of  honor 
That  absorbed  my  heart  and  brain; 

Threefold  crowns  the  Angel  promised, 
Each  one  to  be  bought  by  pain : 


TRUE  HONORS.  11 

While  he  spoke,  a  threefold  blessing 

Fell  upon  my  soul  like  rain. 
Helper  of  the  poor  and  suffering  ; 

Victor  in  a  glorious  strife; 
Singer  of  a  noble  poem  : 

Such  the  honors  of  my  life. 

Ah,  that  dream  !    Long  years  that  gave  mo 

Joy  and  grief  as  real  things 
Never  touched  the  tender  memory 

Sweet  and  solemn  that  it  brings,  — 
Never  quite  effaced  the  feeling 

Of  those  white  and  shadowing  wings. 

Do  those  blue  eyes  open  wider  1 

Does  my  faith  too  foolish  seem  ? 
Yes,  my  darling,  years  have  taught  me 

It  was  nothing  but  a  dream. 
Soon,  too  soon,  the  bitter  knowledge 

Of  a  fearful  trial  rose, 
Rose  to  crush  my  heart,  and  sternly 

Bade  my  young  ambition  close. 

More  and  more  my  eyes  were  clouded, 

Till  at  last  God's  glorious  light 
Passed  away  from  me  forever, 

And  I  lived  and  live  in  night. 
Dear,  I  will  not  dim  your  pleasure, 

Christmas  should  be  only  gay :  — 
In  my  night  the  stars  have  risen, 

And  I  wait  the  dawn  of  day. 

Spite  of  all  I  could  be  happy ; 
For  my  brothers'  tender  care 


2Z  TRUE  HONORS. 

In  their  boyish  pastimes  ever 
Made  mc  take,  or  feel  a  share. 

Philip,  even  then  so  thoughtful, 
Max  so  noble,  brave,  and  tall, 

And  your  father,  little  Godfrey, 
The  most  loving  of  them  all. 

Philip  reasoned  down  my  sorrow, 

Max  would  laugh  my  gloom  away, 
Godfrey's  little  arms  put  round  me 

Helped  me  through  my  dreariest  day ; 
While  the  promise  of  my  Angel, 

Like  a  star,  now  bright,  now  pale, 
Hung  in  blackest  night  above  me, 

And  I  felt  it  could  not  fail. 

Years  passed  on,  my  brothers  left  mc, 

Each  went  out  to  take  his  share 
In  the  struggle  of  life ;  my  portion 

Was  a  humble  one  —  to  bear. 
Here  I  dwelt,  and  learnt  to  wander 

Through  the  woods  and  fields  alone, 
Every  cottage  in  the  village 

Had  a  corner  called  my  own. 

Old  and  young,  all  brought  their  troubles, 

Great  or  small,  for  mc  to  hear ; 
I  have  often  blessed  my  sorrow 

That  drew  others'  grief  so  near. 
Ah,  the  people  needed  helping  — 

Needed  love  —  (for  Love  and  Heaven 
Are  the  only  gifts  not  bartered, 

They  alone  are  freely  given)  — 


TRUE  HONORS. 

And  I  gave  it.     Philip's  bounty 

(Wc  were  orphans,  dear)  made  toil 
Prosper,  and  want  never  fastened 

On  the  tenants  of  the  soil. 
Philip's  name  (O,  how  I  gloried, 

He  so  younjr,  to  sec  it  rise  !) 
Soon  grew  noted  among  statesmen 

As  a  patriot  true  and  wise. 

And  his  people  all  felt  honored 

To  be  ruled  by  such  a  name ; 
I  was  proud  too  that  they  loved  me; 

Through  their  pride  in  him  it  came. 
He  had  gained  what  I  had  longed  for, 

I  meanwhile  grew  glad  and  gay, 
'Mid  his  people,  to  be  serving 

Him  and  them,  in  some  poor  way. 

How  his  noble  earnest  speeches 

With  untiring  fervor  came  ! 
Helper  of  the  poor  and  suffering; 

Truly  he  deserved  the  name  ! 
Had  my  Angel's  promise  failed  me  f 

Had  that  word  of  hope  grown  dim  ? 
Why,  my  Philip  had  fulfilled  it, 

And  I  loved  it  best  in  him  ! 

Max  meanwhile  —  ah,  you,  my  darling, 

Can  his  loving  words  recall  — 
'Mid  the  bravest  and  the  noblest, 

Braver,  nobler,  than  them  all. 
How  I  loved  him  !  how  my  heart  thrilled 

When  his  sword  clanked  by  his  side, 
When  I  touched  his  gold  embroidery, 

Almost  saw  him  in  his  pride  ! 


a3 


24  TRUE  HONORS. 

So  we  parted  ;  he  all  eager 

To  uphold  the  name  he  bore, 
Leaving  in  my  charge  —  he  loved  me  — 

Some  one  whom  he  loved  still  more : 
I  must  tend  this  gentle  flower, 

I  must  speak  to  her  of  him, 
For  he  feared  —  Love  still  is  fearful  — 

That  his  memory  might  grow  dim. 

I  must  guard  her  from  all  sorrow, 

I  must  play  a  brother's  part, 
Shield  all  grief  and  trial  from  her, 

If  it  need  be,  with  my  heart. 
Years  passed,  and  his  name  grew  famous ; 

We  were  proud,  both  she  and  I; 
And  we  lived  upon  his  letters, 

While  the  slow  days  fleeted  by. 

Then  at  last  —  you  know  the  story, 

How  a  fearful  rumor  spread, 
Till  all  hope  had  slowly  faded, 

And  we  heard  that  he  was  dead. 
Dead  !     O,  those  were  bitter  hours ; 

Yet  within  my  soul  there  dwelt 
A  warning,  and  while  others  mourned  him, 

Something  like  a  hope  I  felt. 

His  was  no  weak  life  as  mine  was, 

But  a  life,  so  full  and  strong  — 
No,  I  could  not  think  he  perished 

Nameless,  'mid  a  conquered  tlu-ong. 
How  she  drooped !    Years  passed ;  no  tidings 

Came,  and  yet  that  little  flame 
Of  strange  hope  within  my  spirit 

Still  burnt  on,  and  lived  the  same. 


TRUE  IIOXORS.  25 

Ah !  my  child,  our  hearts  will  fail  us, 

When  to  us  they  strongest  seem : 
I  can  look  back  on  those  hours 

As  a  fearful,  evil  dream. 
She  had  long  despaired  ;  what  wonder 

That  her  heart  had  turned  to  mine  ? 
Earthly  loves  are  deep  and  tender, 

Not  eternal  and  divine  ! 

Can  I  say  how  bright  a  future 

Rose  before  my  soul  that  day  ? 
O,  so  strange,  so  sweet,  so  tender ! 

And  I  had  to  turn  away. 
Hard  and  terrible  the  struggle, 

For  the  pain  not  mine  alone ; 
I  called  back  my  Brother's  spirit, 

And  I  bade  him  claim  his  own. 

Told  her  —  now  I  dared  to  do  it  — 

That  I  felt  the  day  would  rise 
When  he  would  return  to  gladden 

My  weak  heart  and  her  bright  eyes. 
And  I  pleaded  —  pleaded  sternly  — 

In  his  name,  and  for  his  sake : 
Now,  I  can  speak  calmly  of  it, 

Then,  I  thought  my  heart  would  break. 

Soon  —  ah,  Love  had  not  deceived  me, 

(Love's  true  instincts  never  err,) 
"Wounded,  weak,  escaped  from  prison, 

He  returned  to  me, — to  her. 
I  could  thank  God  that  bright  morning, 

When  I  felt  my  Brother's  gaze, 
That  my  heart  was  true  and  loyal, 

As  in  our  old  boyish  days. 


»6  TRUE  HONORS. 

Bought  by  wounds  and  deeds  of  daring, 

Honors  he  had  brought  away ; 
Glory  crowned  his  name  —  my  Brother's  ; 

Mine  too  !  —  we  were  one  that  day. 
Since  the  crown  on  him  had  fallen, 

"  Victor  in  a  noble  strife," 
I  could  live  and  die  contented 

With  my  poor  ignoble  life. 

"Well,  my  darling,  almost  weary 

Of  my  story  1     "Wait  awhile ; 
For  the  rest  is  only  joyful ; 

I  can  tell  it  with  a  smile. 
One  bright  promise  still  was  left  me, 

Wound  so  close  about  my  soul, 
That,  as  one  by  one  had  failed  me, 

This  dream  now  absorbed  the  whole. 

"  Singer  or  a  noble  Poem,"  — 

Ah,  my  darling,  few  and  rare 
Burn  the  glorious  names  of  Poets, 

Like  stars  in  the  purple  air. 
That  too,  and  I  glory  in  it, 

That  great  gift  my  Godfrey  won  j 
I  have  my  dear  share  of  honor, 

Gained  by  that  beloved  one. 

One  day  shall  my  darling  read  it ; 

Now  she  cannot  understand 
All  the  noble  thoughts  that  lighten 

Through  the  genius  of  the  land. 
I  am  proud  to  be  his  brother, 

Proud  to  think  that  hope  was  true ; 
Though  I  longed  and  strove  so  vainly, 

What  I  failed  in,  he  could  do. 


TRUE  nONORS.  27 

I  was  long  before  I  knew  it, 

Longer  ere  I  felt  it  so  ; 
Then  I  strung  my  rhymes  together 

Only  for  the  poor  and  low. 
And,  it  pleases  me  to  know  it, 

(For  I  love  them  well  indeed,) 
They  care  for  my  humble  verses, 

Fitted  for  their  humble  need. 

And,  it  cheers  my  heart  to  hear  it, 

Where  the  far-off  settlers  roam, 
My  poor  words  are  sung  and  cherished, 

Just  because  they  speak  of  Home. 
And  the  little  children  sing  them, 

(That,  I  think,  has  pleased  mc  best,) 
Often,  too,  the  dying  love  thera, 

For  they  tell  of  Heaven  and  rest. 

So  my  last  vain  dream  has  faded ; 

(Such  as  I  to  think  of  fame  !) 
Yet  I  will  not  say  it  failed  me, 

For  it  crowned  my  Godfrey's  name. 
No  ;  my  Angel  did  not  cheat  me, 

For  my  long  life  has  been  blest; 
He  did  give  me  Love  and  Sorrow, 

He  will  bring  me  Light  and  Rest. 


28  A    WOMAN'S   QUESTION. 

A    WO^IAN'S    QUESTION. 


i^P^EFORE  I  trust  mv  Fate  to  thee, 
Or  place  my  hand  in  thine, 
Before  I  let  thy  Future  give 
Color  and  form  to  mine, 
Before  I  peril  all  for  thee,  question  thy  soul  to- 
night for  me. 

I  break  all  slighter  bonds,  nor  feel 

A  shadow  of  regret : 
Is  there  one  link  within  the  Past 

That  holds  thy  spirit  yet  1 
Or  is  thy  Faith  as  clear  and  free  as  that  which  I 
can  pledge  to  thee  ? 

Does  there  within  thy  dimmest  dreams 

A  possible  future  shine, 
Wherein  thy  life  could  henceforth  breathe, 

Untouched,  unshared  by  mine  ? 
If  so,  at  any  pain  or  cost,  O,  tell  me  before  all 
is  lost. 

Look  deeper  still.     If  thou  canst  feel 

Within  thy  inmost  soul, 
That  thou  hast  kept  a  portion  back, 

While  I  have  staked  the  whole ; 
Let  no  false  pity  spare  the  blow,  but  in  true  mercy 
tell  me  so. 

Is  there  within  thy  heart  a  need 
That  mine  cannot  fulfil  1 


THE   THREE  RULERS.  29 

One  chord  that  any  other  hand 

Could  better  wake  or  still  ? 
Speak  now  —  lest  at  some  future  day  my  wholo 
life  wither  and  decay. 

Lives  there  within  thy  nature  hid 

The  demon-spirit  Change, 
Shedding  a  passing  glory  still 

On  all  things  new  and  strange  ?  — 
It  may   not  be  thy  fault  alone  —  but  shield  my 
heart  against  thy  own. 

Couldst  thou  withdraw  thy  hand  one  day 

And  answer  to  my  claim, 
That  Fate,  and  that  to-day's  mistake  — 

Not  thou  —  had  been  to  blame  ? 
Some  soothe  their  conscience  thus ;  but  thou  wilt 
surely  warn  and  save  me  now. 

Nay,  answer  not,  —  I  dare  not  hear, 

The  words  would  come  too  late  ; 
Yet  I  would  spare  thee  all  remorse, 

So,  comfort  thee,  my  Fate  — 
Whatever  on  my  heart   may  fall  —  remember,  I 
would  risk  it  all ! 


TIIE   THKEE   RULERS. 

SAW  a  Ruler  take  his  stand 
And  trample  on  a  mighty  land ; 
The  People  crouched  before  his  beck, 
His  iron  heel  was  on  their  neck, 


3o  A  DEAD  PAST. 

His  name  shone  bright  through  blood  and  pain, 
His  sword  flashed  back  their  praise  again. 

I  saw  another  Ruler  rise  : 

His  words  were  noble,  good,  and  wise ; 

With  the  calm  sceptre  of  his  pen 

He  ruled  the  minds  and  thoughts  of  men : 

Some  scoffed,  some  praised,  —  while  many  heard, 

Only  a  few  obeyed  his  word. 

Another  Ruler  then  I  saw : 

Love  and  sweet  Pity  were  his  law ; 

The  greatest  and  the  least  had  part 

(Yet  most  the  unhappy)  in  his  heart : 

The  People,  in  a  mighty  band, 

Rose  up,  and  drove  him  from  the  land ! 


A  DEAD   PAST. 


JjPARE    her   at   least  :    look,   you   have 
taken  from  me 
The  Present,  and  I  murmur  not,  nor 
moan; 

The  Future  too,  with  all  her  glorious  promise; 
But  do  not  leave  me  utterly  alone. 

Sparc  me  the  Past :  for,  see,  she  cannot  harm  you, 
She  lies  so  white  and  cold,  wrapped  in  her  shroud ; 
All,  all  my  own !  and,  trust  mc,  I  will  hide  her 
Within  my  soul,  nor  speak  to  her  aloud. 


A  DOUBTING  HEART. 


3i 


I  folded  her  soft  hands  upon  her  bosom, 
And  strewed  my  flowers  upon  her,  —  fhry  still  live  : 
Sometimes  I  like  to  kiss  her  closed  white  eyelids, 
And  think  of  all  the  joy  she  used  to  give. 

Cruel  indeed  it  were  to  take  her  from  me ; 
She  sleeps,  she  will  not  wake  —  no  fear  —  again  : 
And  so  I  laid  her,  such  a  gentle  burthen, 
Quietly  on  my  heart  to  still  its  pain. 

I  do  not  think  that  any  smiling  Present, 
Any  vague  Future,  spite  of  all  her  charms, 
Could  ever  rival  her.     You  know  you  laid  her, 
Long  years  ago,  then  living,  in  my  arms. 

Leave  her  at  least :  while  my  tears  fall  upon  her, 
I  dream  she  smiles,  just  as  she  did  of  yore ; 
As  dear  as  ever  to  me  —  nay,  it  may  be, 
Even  dearer  still  —  since  I  have  nothing  more. 


A  DOUBTING   HEART. 


HERE  are  the  swallows  fled  ? 
Frozen  and  dead, 
Perchance  upon  some  bleak  and  stormy 
shore. 
O  doubting  heart ! 
Far  over  purple  seas, 
They  wait,  in  sunny  ease, 
The  balmy  southern  breeze, 
To  bring  them  to  their  northern  homes  once  more. 


3a  A  DOUBTING  HEART. 

Why  must  the  flowers  die  ? 
Prisoned  they  lie 
In  the  cold  tomb,  heedless  of  tears  or  rain. 
0  doubting  heart ! 
They  only  sleep  below 
The  soft  white  ermine  snow, 
While  winter  winds  shall  blow, 
To  breathe  and  smile  upon  you  soon  again. 

The  sun  has  hid  its  rays 

These  many  days ; 
Will  dreary  hours  never  leave  the  earth  ? 
O  doubting  heart ! 
The  stormy  clouds  on  high 
Veil  the  same  sunny  sky, 
That  soon  (for  spring  is  nigh) 
Shall  wake  the  summer  into  golden  mirth. 

Fair  hope  is  dead,  and  light 

Is  quenched  in  night. 
What  sound  can  break  the  silence  of  despair  < 
0  doubting  heart ! 
Thy  sky  is  overcast, 
Yet  stars  shall  rise  at  last, 
Brighter  for  darkness  past, 
And  angels'  silver  voices  stir  the  air. 


A  STUDENT. 


S3 


A   STUDENT. 

VER  an  ancient  scroll  I  bent, 
Steeping  my  soul  in  wise  content, 
Nor  paused  a  moment,  save  to  chide 
A  low  voice  whispering  at  my  side. 

I  wove  beneath  the  stars'  pale  shine 
A  dream,  half  human,  half  divine ; 
And  shook  off  (not  to  break  the  charm) 
A  little  hand  laid  on  my  arm. 

I  read  ;  until  my  heart  would  glow 
With  the  great  deeds  of  long  ago ; 
Nor  heard,  while  with  those  mighty  dead, 
Pass  to  and  fro  a  faltering  tread. 

On  the  old  theme  I  pondered  long,  — 
The  struggle  between  right  and  wrong; 
I  could  not  check  such  visions  high, 
To  soothe  a  little  quivering  sigh. 

I  tried  to  solve  the  problem  —  Life  ; 
Dreaming  of  that  mysterious  strife, 
How  could  I  leave  such  reasonings  wise, 
To  answer  two  blue  pleading  eyes  ? 

I  strove  how  best  to  give,  and  when, 
My  blood  to  save  my  fellow-men,  — 
How  could  I  turn  aside,  to  look 
At  snowdrops  laid  upon  my  book  t 
•3 


34 


A  KNIGHT  ERRANT. 

Now  Time  has  fled  —  the  world  is  strange, 
Something  there  is  of  pain  and  change ; 
My  books  lie  closed  upon  the  shelf; 
I  miss  the  old  heart  in  myself. 

I  miss  the  sunbeams  in  my  room  — 
It  was  not  always  wrapped  in  gloom : 
I  miss  my  dreams  —  they  fade  so  fast, 
Or  flit  into  some  trivial  past. 

The  great  stream  of  the  world  goes  by ; 
None  care,  or  heed,  or  question,  why 
I,  the  lone  student,  cannot  raise 
My  voice  or  hand  as  in  old  days. 

No  echo  seems  to  wake  again 
My  heart  to  anything  but  pain, 
Save  when  a  dream  of  twilight  brings 
The  fluttering  of  an  angel's  wings  ! 


A  KNIGHT   ERRANT. 


HOUGH  he  lived  and  died  among  us, 
Yet  his  name  may  be  enrolled 
With  the  knights  whose  deeds  of  daring 
Ancient  chronicles  have  told. 


Still  a  stripling,  he  encountered 
Poverty,  and  struggled  long, 

Gathering  force  from  every  effort, 
Till  he  knew  his  arm  was  strong. 


A  KNIGHT  ERRANT.  35 

Then  his  heart  and  life  he  offered 
To  his  radiant  mistress  —  Truth  ; 

Never  thought,  or  dream,  or  faltering, 
Marred  the  promise  of  his  youth. 

So  he  rode  forth  to  defend  her, 
And  her  peerless  worth  proclaim  ; 

Challenging  each  recreant  doubter 
Who  aspersed  her  spotless  name. 

First  upon  his  path  stood  Ignorance, 

Hideous  in  his  brutal  might ; 
Hard  the  blows  and  long  the  battle 

Ere  the  monster  took  to  flight. 

Then,  with  light  and  fearless  spirit, 

Prejudice  he  dared  to  brave ; 
Hunting  back  the  lying  craven 

To  her  black  sulphureous  cave. 

Followed  by  his  servile  minions, 

Custom,  the  old  Giant,  rose; 
Yet  he,  too,  at  last  was  conquered 

By  the  good  Knight's  weighty  blows. 

Then  he  turned,  and,  flushed  with  victory, 

Struck  upon  the  brazen  shield 
Of  the  world's  great  king,  Opinion, 

And  defied  him  to  the  field. 

Once  again  he  rose  a  conqueror, 
And,  though  wounded  in  the  fight, 

With  a  dying  smile  of  triumph 

Saw  that  Truth  had  gained  her  right. 


36  LINGER,  0  GENTLE  TIME. 

On  his  failing  ear  re-echoing 

Came  the  shouting  round  her  throne; 
Little  cared  he  that  no  future 

With  her  name  ■would  link  his  own. 

Spent  with  many  a  hard-fought  battle, 
Slowly  ebbed  his  life  away, 

And  the  crowd  that  nocked  to  greet  her 
Trampled  on  liim  where  he  lay. 

Gathering  all  his  strength,  he  saw  her 
Crowned  and  reigning  in  her  pride; 

Looked  his  last  upon  her  beauty, 
Raised  his  eyes  to  God,  and  died. 


LINGER,   O   GENTLE   TIME. 


TNGER,  0  gentle  Time, 
Linger,  0  radiant  grace  of  bright   To. 
day! 
Let  not  the  hours'  chime 
Call  thee  away, 
But  linger  near  me  still  with  fond  delay. 

Linger,  for  thou  art  mine  ! 
What  dearer  treasures  can  the  future  hold  ? 

What  sweeter  flowers  than  thine 
Can  she  unfold  1 
What  secrets  tell  my  heart  thou  hast  not  told  ? 


HOMEWARD  BOUND.  37 

O  linger  in  thy  flight ! 

For  shadows  gather  round,  and  should  we  part, 
A  dreary,  starless  night 
May  fill  my  heart,  — 
Then  pause  and  linger  yet  ere  thou  depart. 

Linger,  I  ask  no  more,  — 
Thou  art  enough  forever  —  thou  alone ; 

What  future  can  restore, 
When  thou  art  flown, 
All  that  I  hold  from  thee  and  call  my  own  ? 


HOMEWARD   BOUXD. 

HAVE  seen  a  fiercer  tempest, 

Known  a  louder  whirlwind  blow ; 
I  was  wrecked  off  red  Algiers, 
Six-and-thirty  years  ago. 
Young  I  was,  and  yet  old  seamen 
Were  not  strong  or  calm  as  I ; 
While  life  held  such  treasures  for  me, 
I  felt  sure  I  could  not  die. 

Life  I  straggled  for  —  and  saved  it ; 

Life  alone  —  and  nothing  more  ; 
Bruised,  half  dead,  alone  and  helpless 

I  was  east  upon  the  shore. 
I  feared  the  pitiless  roeks  of  Ocean ; 

So  the  great  sea  rose  —  and  then 
Cast  me  from  her  friendly  hosom, 

On  the  pitiless  hearts  of  men. 


38  HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

Gaunt  and  dreary  ran  the  mountains, 

With  black  gorges,  up  the  land; 
Up  to  where  the  lonely  Desert 

Spreads  her  burning,  dreary  sand  : 
In  the  gorges  of  the  mountains, 

On  the  plain  beside  the  sea, 
Dwelt  my  stern  and  cruel  masters, 

The  black  Moors  of  Barbary. 

Ten  long  years  I  toiled  among  them, 

Hopeless  —  as  I  used  to  say ; 
Now  I  know  Hope  burnt  within  me 

Fiercer,  stronger,  day  by  day  : 
Those  dim  years  of  toil  and  sorrow 

Like  one  long,  dark  dream  appear; 
One  long  day  of  weary  waiting,  — 

Then  each  day  was  like  a  year. 

How  I  cursed  the  land,  my  prison ; 

How  I  cursed  the  serpent  sea, 
And  the  Demon  Fate  that  showered 

All  her  curses  upon  me  ; 
I  was  mad,  I  think  —  God  pardon 

Words  so  terrible  and  wild  — 
This  voyage  would  have  been  my  last  one, 

For  I  left  a  wife  and  child. 

Never  did  one  tender  vision 

Fade  away  before  my  sight, 
Never  once  through  all  my  slavery, 

Burning  day  or  dreary  night ; 
In  my  soul  it  lived,  and  kept  me, 

Now  I  feel,  from  black  despair, 
And  my  heart  was  not  quite  broken, 

While  they  lived  and  blest  me  there. 


HOMEWARD  BOUND.  39 

When  at  night  my  task  was  over, 

I  would  hasten  to  the  shore ; 
(All  was  strange  and  foreign  inland, 

Nothing  I  had  known  before  ;) 
Strange  looked  the  bleak  mountain  passes, 

Strange  the  red  glare  and  black  shade, 
And  the  Oleanders,  waving 

To  the  sound  the  fountains  made. 

Then  I  gazed  at  the  great  Ocean, 

Till  she  grew  a  friend  again  ; 
And  because  she  knew  old  England, 

I  forgave  her  all  my  pain : 
So  the  blue  still  sky  above  me, 

With  its  white  clouds'  fleecy  fold, 
And  the  glimmering  stars  (though  brighter), 

Looked  like  home  and  days  of  old. 

And  a  calm  would  fall  upon  me, 

Worn  perhaps  with  work  and  pain, 
The  wild  hungry  longing  left  me, 

And  I  was  myself  again  : 
Looking  at  the  silver  waters, 

Looking  up  at  the  far  sky, 
Dreams  of  home  and  all  I  left  there 

Floated  sorrowfully  by. 

A  fair  face,  but  pale  with  sorrow, 

With  blue  eyes,  brimful  of  tears, 
And  the  little  red  mouth,  quivering 

With  a  smile,  to  hide  its  fears ; 
Holding  out  her  baby  towards  me, 

From  the  sky  she  looked  on  me ; 
So  it  was  that  last  I  saw  her, 

As  the  ship  put  out  to  sea. 


4o  HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

Sometimes  (and  a  pang  would  seize  me 

That  the  years  were  floating  on) 
I  would  strive  to  paint  her,  altered, 

And  the  little  baby  gone  : 
She  no  longer  young  and  girlish, 

The  child  standing  by  her  knee, 
And  her  face  more  pale  and  saddened 

With  the  weariness  for  mc. 

Then  I  saw,  as  night  grew  darker, 

How  she  taught  my  child  to  pray, 
Holding  its  small  hands  together, 

For  its  father,  far  away ; 
And  I  felt  her  sorrow,  weigliing 

Heavier  on  me  than  my  own, 
Pitying  her  blighted  spring-time, 

And  her  joy  so  early  flown. 

Till  upon  my  hands  (now  hardened 

With  the  rough,  harsh  toil  of  years) 
Bitter  drops  of  anguish  falling, 

Woke  me  from  my  dream,  to  tears ; 
Woke  me  as  a  slave,  an  outcast, 

Leagues  from  home,  across  the  deep ; 
So  —  though  you  may  call  it  childish  — 

So  I  sobbed  myself  to  sleep. 

Well,  the  years  sped  on  —  my  Sorrow, 

Calmer,  and  yet  stronger  grown, 
Was  my  shield  against  all  suffering 

Poorer,  meaner  than  her  own. 
Thus  my  cruel  master's  harshness 

Fell  upon  me  all  in  vain, 
Yet  the  tale  of  what  we  suffered 

Echoed  back  from  main  to  main. 


HOMEWARD  BOUND.  41 

You  have  heard  in  a  far  country 

Of  a  self-devoted  hand, 
Vowed  to  rescue  Christian  captives 

Pining  in  a  foreign  land. 
And  these  gentle-hearted  strangers 

Year  hy  year  go  forth  from  Rome, 
In  their  hands  the  hard-earned  ransom, 

To  restore  some  exiles  home. 

I  was  freed  :  they  broke  the  tidings 

Gently  to  me:  but  indeed 
Hour  by  hour  sped  on,  I  knew  not 

What  the  words  meant  —  I  was  freed  I 
Better  so,  perhaps  ;  while  sorrow 

(More  akin  to  earthly  things) 
Only  strains  the  sad  heart's  fibres, 

Joy,  bright  stranger,  breaks  the  strings. 

Yet  at  last  it  rushed  upon  me, 

And  my  heart  beat  full  and  fast ; 
What  were  now  my  years  of  waiting, 

What  was  all  the  dreary  past  ? 
Nothing  —  to  the  impatient  throbbing 

I  must  bear  across  the  sea  : 
Nothing  —  to  the  eternal  hours 

Still  between  my  home  and  me ! 

How  the  voyage  passed  I  know  not ; 

Strange  it  was  once  more  to  stand 
With  my  countrymen  around  me, 

And  to  clasp  an  English  hand. 
But,  through  all,  my  heart  was  dreaming 

Of  the  first  words  I  should  hear, 
In  the  gentle  voice  that  echoed, 

Fresh  as  ever,  on  my  car. 


42  EOMEWARD  BOUND. 

Should  I  sec  her  start  of  wonder, 

And  the  sudden  truth  arise, 
Flashing  all  her  face  and  lightening 

The  dimmed  splendor  of  her  eyes  1 
Oh  !  to  watch  the  fear  and  doubting 

Stir  the  silent  depths  of  pain, 
And  the  rush  of  joy  —  then  melting 

Into  perfect  peace  again. 

And  the  child  !  —  but  why  remember 

Foolish  fancies  that  I  thought  ? 
Every  tree  and  every  hedge-row 

From  the  well-known  past  I  brought ; 
I  would  picture  my  dear  cottage, 

See  the  crackling  wood-fire  burn, 
And  the  two  beside  it  seated, 

Watching,  waiting,  my  return. 

So  at  last  we  reached  the  harbor. 

I  remember  nothing  more 
Till  I  stood,  my  sick  heart  throbbing, 

With  my  hand  upon  the  door. 
There  I  paused  —  I  heard  her  speaking ; 

Low,  soft,  murmuring  words  she  said ; 
Then  I  first  knew  the  dumb  terror 

I  had  had  lest  she  were  dead. 

It  was  evening  in  late  autumn, 

And  the  gusty  wind  blew  chill ; 
Autumn  leaves  were  falling  round  me, 

And  the  red  sun  lit  the  hill. 
Six-and-twenty  years  are  vanished 

Since  then,  —  I  am  old  and  gray,  — 
But  I  never  told  to  mortal 

What  I  saw,  until  this  day. 


HOMEWARD  BOUND.  43 

She  was  seated  by  the  fire, 

In  her  arms  she  held  a  child, 
Whispering  baby-worda  caressing, 

And  then,  looking  up,  she  smiled ; 
Smiled  on  him  who  stood  beside  her  — 

Oh  !  the  bitter  truth  was  told, 
In  her  look  of  trusting  fondness  — 

I  had  seen  the  look  of  old  ! 

But  she  rose  and  turned  towards  me 

(Cold  and  dumb  I  waited  there) 
With  a  shriek  of  fear  and  terror, 

And  a  white  face  of  despair. 
He  had  been  an  ancient  comrade  — 

Not  a  single  word  we  said, 
While  we  gazed  upon  each  other, 

He  the  living  :  I  the  dead  ! 

I  drew  nearer,  nearer  to  her, 
And  I  took  her  trembling  hand, 

Looking  on  her  white  face,  looking 
That  her  heart  might  understand 

All  the  love  and  all  the  pity 
That  my  lips  refused  to  say. 

I  thank  God  no  thought  save  sorrow- 
Rose  in  our  crushed  hearts  that  day. 

Bitter  tears  that  desolate  moment, 

Bitter,  bitter  tears  we  wept, 
We  three  broken  hearts  together, 

While  the  baby  smiled  and  slept. 
Tears  alone  —  no  words  were  spoken, 

Till  he  —  till  her  husband  said 
That  my  boy,  (I  had  forgotten 

The  poor  child.)  that  he  was  dead. 


44  LIFE  AND  DEATH. 

Then  at  last  I  rose,  and,  turning, 

Wrung  his  hand,  hut  made  no  sign  ; 
And  I  stooped  and  kissed  her  forehead 

Once  more,  as  if  she  were  mine. 
Nothing  of  farewell  I  uttered, 

Save  in  hroken  words  to  pray 
That  God  would  ever  guard  and  bless  her, , 

Then  in  silence  passed  away. 

Over  the  great  restless  ocean 

Six-and-twenty  years  I  roam  ; 
All  my  comrades,  old  and  weary, 

Have  gone  back  to  die  at  home. 
Home !  yes,  I  shall  reach  a  haven, 

I,  too,  shall  reach  home  and  rest ; 
I  shall  find  her  waiting  for  me 

With  our  babv  on  her  breast. 


LIFE   AND   DEATH. 


HAT  is  Life,  father  ?  " 

"  A  battle,  my  child, 
Where  the  strongest  lance  may  fail, 
Where  the  wariest  eyes  may  be  beguiled 
And  the  stoutest  heart  may  quail. 
Where  the  foes  are  gathered  on  every  hand, 

And  rest  not  day  or  night, 
And  the  feeble  little  ones  must  stand 
In  the  thickest  of  the  fight." 


NOW.  45 

"  What  is  Death,  father  1  " 

"  The  rest,  my  child, 

When  the  strife  and  the  toil  are  o'er  ; 
The  angel  of  God,  who,  calm  and  mild, 

Says  we  need  tight  no  more; 
Who,  driving  away  the  demon  band, 

Bids  the  din  of  the  battle  cease ; 
Takes  banner  and  spear  from  our  failing  hand, 

And  proclaims  an  eternal  peace." 

"  Let  me  die,  father !     I  tremble,  and  fear 
To  yield  in  that  terrible  strife  !  " 

"  The  crown  must  be  won  for  heaven,  dear, 

In  the  battle-field  of  life  : 
My  child,  though  thy  foes  are  strong  and  tried, 

He  loveth  the  weak  and  small ; 
The  angels  of  heaven  are  on  thy  side, 

And  God  is  over  all ! " 


NOW. 


ISE  !  for  the  day  is  passing, 
And  you  lie  dreaming  on  ; 
The  others  have  buckled  their  armor, 
And  forth  to  the  fight  are  gone  : 
A  place  in  the  ranks  awaits  you, 

Each  man  has  some  part  to  play ; 
The  Past  and  the  Future  are  nothing, 
In  the  face  of  the  stem  To-day. 


46 


NOW. 

Rise  from  your  dreams  of  the  Future,  — 

Of  gaining  some  hard-fought  field; 
Of  storming  some  airy  fortress, 

Or  bidding  some  giant  yield ; 
Your  Future  has  deeds  of  glory, 

Of  honor  (God  grant  it  may  !) 
But  your  arm  will  never  be  stronger, 

Or  the  need  so  great  as  To-day. 

Rise  !  if  the  Past  detains  you, 

Her  sunshine  and  storms  forget ; 
No  chains  so  unworthy  to  hold  yon 

As  those  of  a  vain  regret ; 
Sad  or  bright,  she  is  lifeless  ever; 

Cast  her  phantom  arms  away, 
Nor  look  back,  save  to  learn  the  lesson 

Of  a  nobler  strife  To-day. 

Rise !  for  the  day  is  passing ; 

The  sound  that  you  scarcely  hear 
Is  the  enemy  marching  to  battle : 

Arise  !  for  the  foe  is  here ! 
Stay  not  to  sharpen  your  weapons, 

Or  the  hour  will  strike  at  last, 
When,  from  dreams  of  a  coming  battle^ 

You  may  wake  to  find  it  past ! 


CLEANSING    FIRES.  47 


CLEANSING   FIRES. 

'  ET  thy  gold  be  cast  in  the  furnace, 
Thy  red  gold,  precious  and  bright*, 
Do  not  fear  the  hungry  fire, 

With  its  caverns  of  burning  light ; 
And  thy  gold  shall  return  more  precious, 

Free  from  every  spot  and  stain; 
For  gold  must  be  tried  by  fire, 
As  a  heart  must  be  tried  by  pain ! 

In  the  cruel  fire  of  Sorrow 

Cast  thy  heart,  do  not  faint  or  wail ; 
Let  thy  hand  be  firm  and  steady, 

Do  not  let  thy  spirit  quail : 
But  wait  till  the  trial  is  over, 

And  take  thy  heart  again ; 
For  as  gold  is  tried  by  fire, 

So  a  heart  must  be  tried  by  pain  ! 

I  shall  know  by  the  gleam  and  glitter 

Of  the  golden  chain  you  wear, 
By  your  heart's  calm  strength  in  loving, 

Of  the  fire  they  have  had  to  bear. 
Beat  on,  true  heart,  forever ; 

Shine  bright,  strong  golden  chain ; 
And  bless  the  cleansing  fire, 

And  the  furnace  of  living  pain  I 


♦3 


TEE   VOICE   OF   TEE   WIND. 


THE    VOICE    OF   THE   WIND. 


Jj|f ET  us  throw  more  logs  on  the  fire ! 
r\'Jj''}        ^r°  h*ve  need  of  a  cheerful  light, 
i    And  close  round  the  hearth  to  gather, 
For  the  wind  has  risen  to-night. 


With  the  mournful  sound  of  its  wailing 
It  has  checked  the  children's  glee, 

And  it  calls  with  a  louder  clamor 
Than  the  clamor  of  the  sea. 

Hark  to  the  voice  of  the  wind ! 

Let  us  listen  to  what  it  is  saving, 

Let  us  hearken  to  where  it  has  been; 
For  it  tells,  in  its  terrible  crying, 

The  fearful  sights  it  has  seen. 
It  clatters  loud  at  the  casements, 

Round  the  house  it  hurries  on, 
And  shrieks  with  redoubled  fury 

When  we  say,  "  The  blast  is  gone  ! " 
Hark  to  the  voice  of  the  wind  I 

It  has  been  on  the  field  of  battle, 

Where  the  dying  and  wounded  lie ; 
And  it  brings  the  last  groan  they  uttered, 

And  the  ravenous  vulture's  cry. 
It  has  been  where  the  icebergs  were  meeting, 

And  closed  with  a  fearful  crash  : 
On  shores  where  no  foot  has  wandered 

It  has  heard  the  waters  dash. 

Hark  to  the  voice  of  the  wind ! 


THE   VOICE  OF  TEE  WIND.  49 

It  has  been  on  the  desolate  ocean 

When  the  lightning  struck  the  mast ; 
It  has  heard  the  cry  of  the  drowning 

Who  sank  as  it  hurried  past ; 
The  words  of  despair  and  anguish 

That  were  heard  by  no  living  ear, 
The  gun  that  no  signal  answered, 

It  brings  them  all  to  us  here. 

Hark  to  the  voice  of  the  wind ! 

It  has  been  on  the  lonely  moorland, 

Where  the  treacherous  snow-drift  lies, 
Where  the  traveller,  spent  and  weary, 

Gasped  fainter  and  fainter  cries  ; 
Jt  has  heard  the  bay  of  the  bloodhounds 

On  the  track  of  the  hunted  slave, 
The  lash  and  the  curse  of  the  master, 

And  the  groan  that  the  captive  gave. 
Hark  to  the  voice  of  the  wind ! 

It  has  swept  through  the  gloomy  forest, 

Where  the  sledge  was  urged  to  its  speed, 
Where  the  howling  wolves  were  rushing 

On  the  track  of  the  panting  steed. 
Where  the  pool  was  black  and  lonely, 

It  caught  up  a  splash  and  a  cry,  — 
Only  the  bleak  sky  heard  it, 

And  the  wind  as  it  hurried  by. 

Hark  to  the  voice  of  the  wind ! 

Then  throw  more  logs  on  the  fire, 

Since  the  air  is  bleak  and  cold, 
And  the  children  are  drawing  nigher, 

For  the  tales  that  the  wind  has  told. 
4 


5° 


TREASURES. 

So  closer  and  closer  gather 

Round  the  red  and  crackling  light ; 
And  rejoice  (while  the  wind  is  blowing) 

We  are  safe  and  warm  to-night. 
Hark  to  the  voice  of  the  wind  I 


TREASURES. 


ET  me  count  my  treasures, 
All  my  soul  holds  dear, 
Given  me  by  dark  spirits 
Whom  I  used  to  fear. 


Through  long  days  of  anguish, 
And  sad  nights,  did  Pain 

Forge  my  shield,  Endurance, 
Bright  and  free  from  stain  1 

Doubt,  in  misty  caverns, 
'Mid  dark  horrors  sought, 

Till  my  peerless  jewel, 
Faith,  to  me  she  brought. 

Sorrow,  that  I  wearied 
Should  remain  so  long, 

Wreathed  my  starry  glory, 
The  bright  Crown  of  Song. 

Strife,  that  racked  my  spirit 
Without  hope  or  rest, 

Left  the  blooming  flower, 
Patience,  on  my  breast. 


SHINING  STARS.  51 

Suffering,  that  I  dreaded, 

Ignorant  of  her  charms, 
Laid  the  fair  child,  Pity, 

Smiling,  in  my  arms. 

So  I  count  my  treasures, 

Stored  in  days  long  past,  — 

And  I  thank  the  givers, 
Whom  I  know  at  last  I 


SHINING   STARS. 


HINE,  ye  stars  of  heaven, 
On  a  world  of  pain  ! 
See  old  Time  destroying 
All  our  hoarded  gain ; 
All  our  sweetest  flowers, 
Every  stately  shrine, 
All  our  hard-earned  glory, 
Every  dream  divine ! 

Shine,  ye  stars  of  heaven, 

On  the  rolling  years  ! 
See  how  Time,  consoling, 

Dries  the  saddest  tears, 
Bids  the  darkest  storm-clouds 

Pass  in  gentle  rain, 
While  npspring  in  glory 

Flowers  and  dreams  again! 


5*  WAITING. 

Shine,  ye  stars  of  heaven, 

On  a  world  of  fear  ! 
See  how  Time,  avenging, 

Bringeth judgment  here: 
Weaving  ill-won  honors 

To  a  fiery  crown  ; 
Bidding  hard  hearts  perish  ; 

Casting  proud  hearts  down. 

Shine,  ye  stars  of  heaven, 

On  the  hours'  slow  flight ! 
See  how  Time,  rewarding, 

Gilds  good  deeds  with  light ; 
Pays  with  kingly  measure  ; 

Brings  earth's  dearest  prize  ; 
Or,  crowned  with  rays  diviner, 

Bids  the  end  arise  ! 


WAITING. 


HEREFORE  dwell  so  sad  and  lonely 

By  the  desolate  sea-shore, 
With  the  melancholy  surges 
Beating  at  vour  cottage  door  ? 


"  You  shall  dwell  heside  the  castle 
Shadowed  hy  our  ancient  trees ; 

And  your  life  shall  pass  on  gently, 
Cared  for,  and  in  rest  and  ease." 


WAITING.  53 

"  Lady,  one  who  loved  me  dearly 

Sailed  for  distant  lands  away; 
And  I  wait  here  his  returning 

Hopefully  from  day  to  day. 

"  To  my  door  I  bring  my  spinning, 

Watching  every  ship  I  sec  ; 
Waiting,  hoping,  till  the  sunset 

Fades  into  the  western  sea. 

"  After  sunset,  at  my  casement, 

Still  I  place  a  signal  light ; 
He  will  sec  its  well-known  shining 

Should  lus  ship  return  at  night. 

"  Lady,  see  your  infant  smiling, 

AVith  its  flaxen  curling  hair,  — 
I  remember  when  your  mother 

Was  a  baby  just  as  fair. 

"  I  was  watching  then,  and  hoping  : 

Years  have  brought  great  change  to  all ; 

To  my  neighbors  in  their  cottage, 
To  you  nobles  at  the  hall. 

"  Not  to  me,  —  for  I  am  waiting, 

And  the  years  have  fled  so  fast, 
I  must  look  at  you  to  tell  me 

That  a  weary  time  has  past ! 

"  When  I  hear  a  footstep  coming 
On  the  shingle  —  years  have  fled  — 

Yet  amid  a  thousand  others, 

I  shall  know  his  quick,  light  tread. 


54    TEE  CRADLE-SONG  OF  TEE  POOR. 

"  When  I  hear  (to-night  it  may  be) 
Some  one  pausing  at  my  door, 

I  shall  know  the  gay,  soft  accents, 
Heard  and  welcomed  oft  before ! 

"  So  each  day  I  am  more  hopeful, 
He  may  come  before  the  night; 

Every  sunset  I  feel  surer 

He  must  come  ere  morning  light. 

"  Then  I  thank  you,  noble  lady, 
But  I  cannot  do  your  will : 

Where  he  left  me^he  must  find  me, 
Waiting,  watching,  hoping,  still !  " 


THE  CRADLE-SONG  OF  THE  POOR. 

USH !     I  cannot  bear  to  see  thee 
Stretch  thy  tiny  hands  in  vain ; 
Dear,  I  have  no  bread  to  give  thee, 
Nothing,  child,  to  ease  thy  pain  ! 
When  God  sent  thee  first  to  bless  me, 

Proud,  and  thankful  too,  was  I; 
Now,  my  darling,  I,  thy  mother, 
Almost  long  to  see  thee  die. 

Sleep,  my  darling,  thou  ai-t  weary; 
God  is  good,  but  life  is  dreary. 

I  have  watched  thy  beauty  fading, 
And  thy  strength  sink  day  by  day, 

Soon,  I  know,  will  Want  and  Fever 
Take  thy  little  life  away. 


TEE  CRADLE-SONG  OF  TIIE  POOR.    55 

Famine  makes  thy  father  reckless, 
Hope  lias  Left  both  him  and  me ; 
We  could  suffer  all,  my  baby, 
Ilad  we  but  a  crust  for  thee. 

Sleep,  my  darling,  thou  art  weary; 
God  is  good,  but  life  is  dreary. 

Better  thou  shouldst  perish  early, 

Starve  so  soon,  my  darling  one, 
Than  in  helpless  sin  and  sorrow 

Vainly  live  as  I  have  done. 
Better  that  thy  angel  spirit 

With  my  joy,  my  peace,  were  flown, 
Than  thy  heart  grew  cold  and  careless, 

Reckless,  hopeless,  like  my  own. 

Sleep,  my  darling,  thou  art  weary; 
God  is  good,  but  life  is  dreary. 

I  am  wasted,  clear,  with  hunger, 

And  my  brain  is  all  opprest, 
I  have  scarcely  strength  to  press  thee, 

Wan  and  feeble,  to  my  breast. 
Patience,  baby,  God  will  help  us, 

Death  will  come  to  thee  and  me, 
He  will  take  us  to  his  heaven, 

Where  no  want  or  pain  can  be. 

Sleep,  my  darling,  thou  art  weary; 
God  is  good,  but  life  is  dreary. 

Such  the  plaint  that,  late  and  early, 

Did  we  listen,  we  might  hear 
Close  beside  us,  —  but  the  thunder 

Of  a  city  dulls  our  ear. 


BE  STRONG. 

Every  heart,  as  God's  bright  angel, 
Can  bid  one  such  sorrow  cease; 
God  has  glory  when  his  children 
Bring  his  poor  ones  joy  and  peace  ! 
Listen,  nearer  while  she  sings 
Sounds  the  flattering  of  wings  1 


BE    STRONG. 


]E  strong  to  hope,  O  Heart ! 
Though  day  is  bright, 
The  stars  can  only  shine 
In  the  dark  night. 
Be  strong,  O  Heart  of  mine, 
Look  towards  the  light ! 

Be  strong  to  bear,  0  Heart ! 

Nothing  is  vain : 
Strive  not,  for  life  is  care, 

And  God  sends  pain  ; 
Heaven  is  above,  and  there 

Rest  will  remain ! 

Be  strong  to  love,  O  Heart ! 

Love  knows  not  wrong ; 
Didst  thou  love  —  creatures  even. 

Life  were  not  long  ; 
Didst  thou  love  God  in  heaven, 

Thou  wouldst  be  strong  ! 


GOD'S  GIFTS.  57 

GOD'S   GIFTS. 

OD  pave  a  gift  to  Earth :  — a  child, 
Weak,  innocent,  and  undcfiled, 
Opened  its  ignorant  eyes  and  smiled. 


It  lay  so  helpless,  so  forlorn, 
Earth  took,  it  coldly  and  in  scorn, 
Cursing  the  day  when  it  was  born. 

She  gave  it  first  a  tarnished  name, 
For  heritage,  a  tainted  fame, 
Then  cradled  it  in  want  and  shame. 

All  influence  of  Good  or  Right, 
All  ray  of  God's  most  holy  light, 
She  curtained  closely  from  its  sight, 

Then  turned  her  heart,  her  eyes  away, 
Ready  to  look  again  the  day 
Its  little  feet  began  to  stray. 

In  dens  of  guilt  the  baby  played, 
Where  sin,  and  sin  alone,  was  made 
The  law  that  all  around  obeyed. 

With  ready  and  obedient  care, 

He  learnt  the  tasks  they  taught  him  there; 

Black  sin  for  lesson,  —  oaths  for  prayer. 

Then  Earth  arose,  and,  in  her  might, 
To  vindicate  her  injured  right, 
Thrust  him  in  deeper  depths  of  night. 


58  GOD'S  GIFTS. 

Branding  him  with  a  deeper  brand 
Of  shame,  lie  could  not  understand, 
The  felon  outcast  of  the  land. 


God  gave  a  gift  to  Earth  :  —  a  child, 
Weak,  innocent,  and  undcfiled, 
Opened  its  ignorant  eyes  and  smiled. 

And  Earth  received  the  gift,  and  cried 
Her  joy  and  triumph  far  and  wide, 
Till  echo  answered  to  her  pride. 

She  blest  the  hour  when  first  he  came 
To  take  the  crown  of  pride  and  fame, 
"Wreathed  through  long  ages  for  his  name. 

Then  bent  her  utmost  art  and  skill 
To  train  the  supple  mind  and  will, 
And  guard  it  from  a  breath  of  ill. 

She  strewed  his  morning  path  with  flowers, 
And  Love,  in  tender  dropping  showers, 
Nourished  the  blue  and  dawning  hours. 

She  shed,  in  rainbow  hues  of  light, 
A  halo  round  the  Good  and  Right, 
To  tempt  and  charm  the  baby's  sight. 

And  every  step,  of  work  or  play, 
Was  lit  by  some  such  dazzling  ray, 
Till  morning  brightened  into  day. 


A    TOMB  IN  GHENT.  59 

And  then  the  "World  arose,  and  said, 
Let  added  honors  now  be  shed 
On  such  a  noble  heart  and  head  ! 

O  "World,  both  gifts  were  pure  and  bright, 
Holy  and  sacred  in  God's  sight :  — 
God  will  judge  them  and  thee  aright  1 


A   TOMB   IN   GHENT. 

SMILING  look  she  had,  a  figure  slight, 
With  cheerful  air,  and  step  both  quick 

and  light ; 
A  strange  and  foreign  look  the  maiden 
bore, 
That  suited  the  quaint  Belgian  dress  she  wore ; 
Yet  the  blue,  fearless  eyes  in  her  fair  face, 
And  her  soft  voice,  told  her  of  English  race  ; 
And  ever,  as  she  flitted  to  and  fro, 
She  sang,  (or  murmured,  rather,)  soft  and  low, 
Snatches  of  song,  as  if  she  did  not  know 
That  she  was  singing,  but  the  happy  load 
Of  dream  and  thought  thus  from  her  heart  o'er- 

flowed  : 
And  while  on  household  cares  she  passed  along, 
The  air  would  bear  me  fragments  of  her  song  ; 
Not  such  as  village  maidens  sing,  and  few 
The  framcrs  of  her  changing  music  knew  ; 
Chants  such  as  heaven  and  earth  first  heard  of  when 
The  master  Palestrina  held  the  pen. 
But  I  with  awe  had  often  turned  the  page, 
Yellow  with  time,  and  half  defaced  by  age, 


60  A   TOMB  m  GHENT. 

And  listened,  with  an  ear  not  quite  unskilled, 

While  heart  and  soul  to  the  grand  echo  thrilled ; 

And  much  I  marvelled,  as  her  cadence  fell 

From  the  Laudate,  that  I  knew  so  well, 

Into  Scarlatti's  minor  fugue,  how  she 

Had  learned  such  deep  and  solemn  harmony. 

But  what  she  told  I  set  in  rhyme,  as  meet 

To  chronicle  the  influence,  dim  and  sweet, 

'Neath  which  her  young  and  innocent  life  had  grown  : 

Would  that  my  words  were  simple  as  her  own. 

Many  years  since,  an  English  workman  went 
Over  the  seas,  to  seek  a  home  in  Ghent, 
Where  English  skill  was  prized  ;  nor  toiled  in  vain; 
Small,  yet  enough,  his  hard-earned  daily  gain. 
He  dwelt  alone,  —  in  sorrow,  or  in  pride, 
He  mixed  not  with  the  workers  by  his  side  ; 
He  seemed  to  cai-c  but  for  one  present  joy,  — 
To  tend,  to  watch,  to  teach  his  sickly  boy. 
Severe  to  all  beside,  yet  for  the  child 
He  softened  his  rough  speech  to  soothings  mild ; 
For  him  he  smiled,  with  him  each  day  he  walked 
Through  the  dark,  gloomy  streets  ;  to  him  he  talked 
Of  home,  of  England,  and  strange  stories  told 
Of  English  heroes  in  the  days  of  old  ; 
And,  (when  the  sunset  gilded  roof  and  spire,) 
The  marvellous  tale  which  never  seemed  to  tire : 
How  the  gilt  dragon,  glaring  fiercely  down 
From  the  great  belfry,  watching  all  the  town. 
Was  brought,  a  trophy  of  the  wars  divine, 
By  a  Crusader  from  far  Palestine, 
And  given  to  Bruges  ;  and  how  Ghent  arose, 
And  how  they  struggled  long  as  deadly  foes, 
Till  Ghent,  one  night,  by  a  brave  soldier's  skill. 


A   TOMB  IN  GHENT.  g 

Stole  the  great  dragon  ;  and  she  keeps  it  still. 
One  day  the  dragon  —  so  't  is  said  —  will  rise, 
Spread  lii.s  bright  wings,  and  glitter  in  the  skies, 
And  over  desert  lands  and  azure  seas 
Will  seek  his  home  'mid  palm  and  cedar  trees. 
So,  as  he  passed  the  belfry  every  day, 
The  boy  would  look  if  it  were  flown  away ; 
Each  day  surprised  to  find  it  watching  there, 
Above  him,  as  he  crossed  the  ancient  square, 
To  seek  the  great  cathedral,  that  had  grown 
A  home  for  him  —  mysterious  and  his  own. 

Dim  with  dark  shadows  of  the  ages  past, 
St.  Bavon  stands,  solemn  and  rich  and  vast ; 
The  slender  pillars,  in  long  vistas  spread, 
Like  forest  arches  meet  and  close  o'erhead  ; 
So  high  that,  like  a  weak  and  doubting  prayer, 
Ere  it  can  float  to  the  carved  angels  there, 
The  silver  clouded  incense  faints  in  air  : 
Only  the  organ's  voice,  with  peal  on  peal, 
Can  mount  to  where  those  far-off  angels  kneel. 
Here  the  pale  boy,  beneath  a  low  side-arch, 
Would  listen  to  its  solemn  chant  or  march ; 
Folding  his  little  hands,  his  simple  prayer 
Melted  in  childish  dreams,  and  both  in  air : 
While  the  great  organ  over  all  would  roll, 
Speaking  strange  secrets  to  his  innocent  soul, 
Bearing  on  eagle-wings  the  great  desire 
Of  all  the  kneeling  throng,  and  piercing  higher 
Than  aught  but  love  and  prayer  can  reach,  until 
Only  the  silence  seemed  to  listen  still ; 
Or  gathering  like  a  sea  still  more  and  more, 
Break  in  melodious  waves  at  heaven's  door, 
And  then  fall,  slow  and  soft,  in  tender  rain, 
Upon  the  pleading,  longing  hearts  again. 


62  A   TOlfB  IN  GHENT. 

Then  he  would  watch  the  rosy  sunlight  glow, 
That  crept  along  the  marble  floor  below, 
Passing,  as  life  does,  with  the  passing  hours, 
Now  by  a  shrine  all  rich  with  gems  and  flowers, 
Now  on  the  brazen  letters  of  a  tomb, 
Then,  leaving  it  again  to  shade  and  gloom, 
And  creeping  on,  to  show,  distinct  and  quaint, 
The  kneeling  figure  of  some  marble  saint  : 
Or  lighting  up  the  carvings  strange  and  rare, 
That  told  of  patient  toil,  and  reverent  care  ; 
Ivy  that  trembled  on  the  spray,  and  ears 
Of  heavy  corn,  and  slender  bulrush  spears, 
And  all  the  thousand  tangled  weeds  that  grow 
In  summer,  where  the  silver  rivers  flow  ; 
And  demon-heads  grotesque,  that  seemed  to  glare 
In  impotent  wrath  on  all  the  beauty  there  : 
Then  the  gold  rays  up  pillared  shaft  would  climb, 
And  so  be  drawn  to  heaven,  at  evening  time. 
And  deeper  silence,  darker  shadows  flowed 
On  all  around,  only  the  windows  glowed 
With  blazoned  glory,  like  the  shields  of  light 
Archangels  bear,  who,  armed  with  love  and  might, 
Watch  upon  heaven's  battlements  at  night. 
Then  all  was  shade  ;  the  silver  lamps  that  gleamed, 
Lost  in  the  daylight,  in  the  darkness  seemed 
Like  sparks  of  fire  in  the  dim  aisles  to  shine, 
Or  trembling  stars  before  each  separate  shrine. 
Grown  half  afraid,  the  child  would  leave  them  there, 
And  come  out,  blinded  by  the  noisy  glare 
That  burst  upon  him  from  the  busy  square. 

The  church  was  thus  his  home  for  rest  or  play; 
And  as  he  came  and  went  again  each  day, 
The  pictured  faces  that  he  knew  so  well 
Seemed  to  smile  on  him  welcome  and  farewell. 


A   TOMB  IN  GHENT.  63 

But  holier,  and  dearer  far  than  all, 

One  sacred  spot  his  own  he  loved  to  call ; 

Save  at  midday,  half-hidden  by  the  gloom  ; 

The  people  call  it  The  White  Maiden's  Tomb: 

For  there  she  stands  ;   her  folded  hands  are  pressed 

Together,  and  laid  softly  on  her  breast, 

As  if  she  waited  but  a  word  to  rise 

Prom  the  dull  earth,  and  pass  to  the  blue  skies ; 

Her  lips  expectant  part,  she  holds  her  breath, 

As  listening  for  the  angel  voice  of  death. 

None  know  how  many  years  have  seen  her  so, 

Or  what  the  name  of  her  who  sleeps  below. 

And  here  the  child  would  come,  and  strive  to  trace, 

Through  the  dim  twilight,  the  pore,  gentle  face 

He  loved  so  well,  and  here  he  oft  would  bring 

Some  violet-blossom  of  the  early  spring, 

And,  climbing  softly  by  the  fretted  stand, 

Not  to  disturb  her,  lay  it  in  her  hand  ; 

Or,  whispering  a  soft,  loving  message  sweet, 

Would  stoop  and  kiss  the  little  marble  feet. 

So,  when  the  organ's  pealing  music  rang, 

He  thought  amid  the  gloom  the  Maiden  sang  ; 

With  reverent,  simple  faith  by  her  he  knelt, 

And  fancied  what  she  thought,  and  what  she  felt ; 

"  Glory  to  God,"  re-echoed  from  her  voice, 

And  then  his  little  spirit  would  rejoice ; 

Or  when  the  Requiem  sobbed  upon  the  air, 

His  baby  tears  dropped  with  her  mournful  prayer. 

So  years  fled  on,  while  childish  fancies  past, 
The  childish  love  and  simple  faith  could  last. 
The  artist-soul  awoke  in  him,  the  flame 
Of  genius,  like  the  light  of  Heaven,  came 
Upon  his  brain,  and  (as  it  will,  if  true) 


64  A   TOMB  IN  GHENT. 

It  touched  his  heart  and  lit  his  spirit,  too. 
His  father  saw,  and  with  a  proud  content 
Let  him  forsake  the  toil  where  he  had  spent 
His  youth's  first  years,  and  on  one  happy  day 
Of  pride,  before  the  old  man  passed  away, 
He  stood  with  quivering  lips,  and  the  big  tears 
Upon  his  check,  and  heard  the  dream  of  years 
Living  and  speaking  to  his  very  heart,  — 
The  low,  hashed  murmur  at  the  wondrous  art 
Of  him  who  with  young,  trembling  fingers  made 
The  great  church-organ  answer  as  he  played  ; 
And,  as  the  uncertain  sound  grew  full  and  strong, 
Rush  with  harmonious  spirit-wings  along, 
And  thrill  with  master-power  the  breatldess  throng. 

The  old  man  died,  and  years  passed  on,  and  still 
The  young  musician  bent  his  heart  and  will 
To  his  dear  toil.     St.  Bavon  now  had  grown 
More  dear  to  him,  and  even  more  his  own  ; 
And  as  he  left  it  every  night  he  prayed 
A  moment  by  the  archway  in  the  shade, 
Kneeling  once  more  within  the  sacred  gloom 
"Where  the  White  Maiden  watched  upon  her  tomb. 
His  hopes  of  travel  and  a  world-wide  fame, 
Cold  Time  had  sobered,  and  his  fragile  frame; 
Content  at  last  only  in  dreams  to  roam, 
Away  from  the  tranquillity  of  home  ; 
Content  that  the  poor  dwellers  by  his  side 
Saw  in  him  but  the  gentle  friend  and  guide, 
The  patient  counsellor  in  the  poor  strife 
And  petty  details  of  their  common  life, 
Who  comforted  where  woe  and  grief  might  fall, 
Nor  slighted  any  pain  or  want  as  small, 
But  whose  great  heart  took  in  and  felt  for  all. 


A   TOMB  IN  GHENT.  65 

Still  he  grew  famous  ;  —  many  came  to  be 
His  pupils  in  the  art  of  harmony. 
One  day  a  voice  floated  so  pure  and  free 
Above  his  music,  that  he,  turned  to  sec 
What  angel  sang,  and  saw  before  his  eves, 
What  made  his  heart  leap  with  a  strange  surprise, 
His  own  White  Maiden,  calm,  and  pure,  and  mild, 
As  in  his  childish  dreams  she  sang  and  smiled ; 
Her  eyes  raised  up  to  Heaven,  her  lips  apart, 
And  music  overflowing  from  her  heart. 
But  the  faint  blush  that  tinged  her  cheek  betrayed 
No  marble  statue,  but  a  living  maid ; 
Perplexed  and  startled  at  his  wondering  look, 
Her  rustling  score  of  Mozart's  Sanetus  shook; 
The  uncertain  notes,  like  birds  within  a  snare, 
Fluttered  and  died  upon  the  trembling  air. 

Days  passed  ;    each   morning  saw  the  maiden 
stand, 
Her  eyes  cast  down,  her  lesson  in  her  hand, 
Eager  to  study,  never  weary,  while 
Repaid  by  the  approving  word  or  smile 
Of  her  kind  master ;  days  and  months  fled  on ; 
One  day  the  pupil  from  the  choir  was  gone; 
Gone  to  take  light,  and  joy,  and  youth  once  more 
Within  the  poor  musician's  humble  door; 
And  to  repay,  with  gentle,  happy  art, 
The  debt  so  many  owed  his  generous  heart. 
And  now,  indeed,  was  one  who  knew  and  felt 
That  a  great  gift  of  God  within  him  dwelt ; 
One  who  could  listen,  who  could  understand, 
Whose  idle  work  dropped  from  her  slackened  hand, 
While  with  wet  eyes  entranced  she  stood,  nor  knew 
How  the  melodious  winged  hours  flew ; 

.5 


66  A   TOMB  IN  GHENT. 

Who  loved  his  art  as  none  had  loved  before, 
Yet  prized  the  noble,  tender  spirit  more. 
While  the  great  organ  brought  from  far  and  near 
Lovers  of  harmony  to  praise  and  hear, 
Unmarked  by  aught  save  what  filled  every  day, 
Duty,  and  toil,  and  rest,  years  passed  away : 
And  now  by  the  low  archway  in  the  shade 
Beside  her  mother  knelt  a  little  maid, 
Who  through  the  great  cathedral  learned  to  roam, 
Climb  to  the  choir,  and  bring  her  father  home ; 
And  stand,  demure  and  solemn  by  his  side, 
Patient  till  the  last  echo  softly  died ; 
Then  place  her  little  hand  in  his,  and  go 
Down  the  dark  winding  stair  to  where  below 
The  mother  knelt,  within  the  gathering  gloom 
Waiting  and  praying  by  the  Maiden's  Tomb. 

So  their  life  went,  until,  one  winter's  day, 
Father  and  child  came  there  alone  to  pray,  — 
The  mother,  gentle  soul,  had  fled  away ! 
Their  life  was  altered  now,  and  yet  the  child 
Forgot  her  passionate  grief  in  time,  and  smiled, 
Half  wondering  why,  when  spring's  fresh  breezea 

came, 
To  see  her  father  was  no  more  the  same. 
Half  guessing  at  the  shadow  of  his  pain, 
And  then  contented  if  he  smiled  again, 
A  sad,  cold  smile,  that  passed  in  tears  away, 
As  reassured  she  ran  once  more  to  play. 
And  now  each  year  that  added  grace  to  grace, 
Fresh  bloom  and  sunshine  to  the  young  girl's  face, 
Brought  a  strange  light  in  the  musician's  eyes, 
As  if  he  saw  some  starry  hope  arise, 
Breaking  upon  the  midnight  of  sad  skies. 


A   TOMB  IN  GHENT.  67 

It  might  be  so  :  more  feeble  year  by  year, 

The  -wanderer  to  liis  resting-place  drew  near. 

One  day  the  Gloria  he  could  play  no  more 

Echoed  its  grand  rejoicing  as  of  yore  ; 

His  hands  were  clasped,  his  weary  head  was  laid, 

Upon  the  tomb  where  the  White  Maiden  prayed ; 

Where  the  child's  love  first  dawned,  his  soul  first 

spoke, 
The  old  man's  heart  there  throbbed  its  last  and  broke. 
The  pjrave  cathedral  that  had  nursed  his  youth, 
Had  helped  his  dreaming,  and  had  taught  him  truth, 
Had  seen  his  boyish  grief  and  baby  tears, 
And  watched  the  sorrows  and  the  joys  of  years, 
Had  lit  his  fame  and  hope  with  sacred  rays, 
And  consecrated  sad  and  happy  days, 
Had  blessed  his  happiness,  and  soothed  his  pain, 
Now  took  her  faithful  servant  home  again. 

He  rests  in  peace :  some  travellers  mention  yet 
An  organist  whose  name  they  all  forget. 
He  has  a  holier  and  a  nobler  fame 
By  poor  men's  hearths,  who  love  and  bless  the  name 
Of  a  kind  friend  ;  and  in  low  tones  to-day 
Speak  tenderly  of  him  who  passed  away. 
Too  poor  to  help  the  daughter  of  their  friend, 
They  grieved  to  see  the  little  pittance  end ; 
To  see  her  toil  and  strive  with  cheerful  heart, 
To  bear  the  lonely  orphan's  struggling  part ; 
They  grieved  to  see  her  go  at  last  alone 
To  English  kinsmen  she  had  never  known : 
And  here  she  came ;  the  foreign  girl  soon  found 
Welcome,  and  love,  and  plenty  all  around, 
And  here  she  pays  it  back  with  earnest  will, 
By  well-taught  housewife  watchfulness  aud  skill; 


68  THE  ANGEL   OF  DEATH. 

Deep  in  her  heart  she  holds  her  father's  name, 
And  tenderly  and  proudly  keeps  his  fame ; 
And  while  she  works  with  thrifty  Belgian  care, 
Past  dreams  of  childhood  float  upon  the  air ; 
Some  strange  old  chant,  or  solemn  Latin  hymn, 
That  echoed  through  the  old  cathedral  dim, 
When  as  a  little  child  each  day  she  went 
To  kneel  and  pray  by  an  old  tomb  in  Ghent. 


THE   ANGEL    OF   DEATH. 

shouldst    thou    fear   the   beautiful 
angel,  Death, 
Who  waits  thee  at  the  portals  of  tho 
skies, 

iEteady  to  kiss  away  thy  struggling  breath, 
Ready  with  gentle  hand  to  close  thine  eyes  1 

How  many  a  tranquil  soul  has  passed  away, 
Fled  gladly  from  fierce  pain  and  pleasures  dim, 

To  the  eternal  splendor  of  the  day ; 

And  many  a  troubled  heart  still  calls  for  him. 

Spirits  too  tender  for  the  battle  here 

Have  turned  from  life,  its  hopes,  its  fears,  iti 
charms ; 
And  children,  shuddering  at  a  world  so  drear, 

Have  smiling  passed  away  into  his  arms. 

He  whom  thou  fcarest  will,  to  ease  its  pain, 
Lay  his  cold  hand  upon  thy  aching  heart : 


A   DREAM.  69 

"Will  soothe  the  terrors  of  thy  troubled  hrain, 
And  bid  the  shadow  of  earth's  grief  depart. 

He  will  give  back  what  neither  time,  nor  might, 
Nor  passionate  prayer,  nor  longing  hope  restore, 

(Dear  as  to  long-blind  eyes  recovered  sight,) 
He  will  give  back  those  who  are  gone  before. 

0,  what  were  life,  if  life  were  all  ?     Thine  eyes 
Arc  blinded  by  their  tears,  or  thou  wonldst  see 

Thy  treasures  wait  thee  in  the  far-off  skies, 

And  Death,  thy  friend,  will  give  them  all  to  thee. 


A   DREAM. 

LL  yesterday  I  was  spinning, 
Sitting  alone  in  the  sun ; 
And   the    dream   that   I   spun  was   60 
lengthy, 
It  lasted  till  day  was  done. 

I  heeded  not  cloud  or  shadow 

That  flitted  over  the  hill, 
Or  the  humming- bees,  or  the  swallows, 

Or  the  trickling  of  the  rill. 

I  took  the  threads  for  my  spinning, 

All  of  blue  summer  air, 
And  a  flickering  ray  of  sunlight 

Was  woven  in  here  and  there. 


7o  THE  PRESENT. 

The  shadows  grew  longer  and  longer, 
The  evening  wind  passed  by, 

And  the  purple  splendor  of  sunset 
Was  flooding  the  western  sky. 

But  I  could  not  leave  my  spinning, 
For  so  fair  my  dream  had  grown, 

I  heeded  not,  hour  by  hour, 
How  the  silent  day  had  flown. 

At  last  the  gray  shadows  fell  round  me, 
And  the  night  came  dark  and  chill, 

And  I  rose  and  ran  clown  the  valley, 
And  left  it  all  on  the  hill. 

I  went  up  the  hill  this  morning 

To  the  place  where  my  spinning  lay,  — 

There  was  nothing  but  glistening  dewdropj 
Remained  of  my  dream  to-day. 


THE   PRESENT. 


^sv5^^M]0  not  crouch  to-day,  and  worship 

The  old  Past,  whose  life  is  fled ; 
Hush  your  voice  to  tender  reverence  ; 
Crowned  he  lies,  but  cold  and  dead : 


Por  the  Present  reigns  our  monarch, 
With  an  added  weight  of  hours ; 

Honor  her,  for  she  is  mighty ! 
Honor  her,  for  she  is  ours ! 


CHANGES.  71 

See  the  shadows  of  his  heroes 

Girt  around  her  cloudy  throne  ; 
Every  day  the  ranks  arc  strengthened 

Bv  great  hearts  to  him  unknown  ; 
Noble  tilings  the  great  Past  promised, 

Holy  dreams,  both  strange  and  new  ; 
But  the  Present  shall  fulfil  them, 

What  he  promised  she  shall  do. 

She  inherits  all  his  treasures, 

She  is  heir  to  all  his  fame, 
And  the  light  that  lightens  round  her 

Is  the  lustre  of  his  name  ; 
She  is  wise  with  all  his  wisdom, 

Living  on  his  grave  she  stands, 
On  her  hrow  she  hears  his  laurels, 

And  his  harvest  in  her  hands. 

Coward,  can  she  reign  and  conquer 

If  we  thus  her  glory  dim  ? 
Let  us  fight  for  her  as  nohly 

As  our  fathers  fought  for  him. 
God,  who  crowns  the  dying  ages, 

Bids  her  rule,  and  us  obey,  — 
Bids  us  cast  our  lives  before  her, 

Bids  us  serve  the  great  To-day. 


CHANGES. 

OUBN,  O  rejoicing  heart ! 
The  hours  are  flying  ; 
Each  one  some  treasure  takes, 
Each  one  some  blossom  breaks, 


7z  STRIVE,   WAIT,  AND  PRAY. 

And  leaves  it  dying ; 
The  chill  dark  night  draws  near, 

Thy  sun  will  soon  depart, 

And  leave  thee  sighing ; 
Then  mourn,  rejoicing  heart, 

The  hours  are  flying  ! 

Rejoice,  0  grieving  heart ! 

The  hours  fly  fast ; 
With  each  some  sorrow  dies, 
With  each  some  shadow  flies, 

Until  at  last 
The  red  dawn  in  the  east 

Bids  weary  night  depart, 

And  pain  is  past. 
Rejoice  then,  grieving  heart, 

The  hours  fly  fast ! 


STRIVE,  WAIT,  AND  PRAY. 


TRIVE  ;  yet  I  do  not  promise 

The  prize  you  dream  of  to-day 
Will  not  fade  when  you  think  to  grasp  it, 
And  melt  in  your  hand  away ; 
But  another  and  holier  treasure, 

You  would  now  perchance  disdain, 
Will  come  when  your  toil  is  over, 
And  pay  you  for  all  your  pain. 

Wait ;  yet  I  do  not  tell  you 
The  hour  you  long  for  now 


A  LAMENT  FOR  THE  SUMMER.        73 

Will  not  come  with  its  radiance  vanished, 

And  a  shadow  upon  its  lirow  ; 
Yet  far  through  the  misty  future, 

With  a  crown  of  stanv  light, 
An  hour  of  joy  you  know  not 

Is  winging  her  silent  flight- 
Pray  ;  though  the  gift  you  ask  for 

May  never  comfort  your  fears, 
May  never  repay  your  pleading, 

Yet  pray,  and  with  hopeful  tears ; 
An  answer,  not  that  you  Jong  for, 

But  diviner,  will  come  oue  day; 
Your  eyes  arc  too  dim  to  see  it, 

Yet  strive,  and  wait,  and  pray. 


A   LAMENT   FOR   THE    SUMMER. 

pAN,  0  ye  Autumn  Winds  ! 
Summer  has  fled, 
The  flowers  have   closed   their   tender 
leaves  and  die ; 
The  lily's  gracious  head 
All  low  must  lie, 

Because  the  gentle  Summer  now  is  dead. 

Grieve,  O  ye  Autumn  Winds! 

Summer  lies  low ; 
The  rose's  trembling  leaves  will  soon  be  shed. 

For  she  that  loved  her  so, 
Alas !  is  dead, 

And  one  by  one  her  loving  children  go. 


74 


THE  UNKNOWN  GRAVE. 

"Wail,  0  ye  Autumn  "Winds  ! 

She  lives  no  more, 
The  gentle  Summer,  with  her  balmy  breath, 

Slill  sweeter  than  before 
When  nearer  death, 

And  brighter  every  day  the  smile  she  wore ! 

Mourn,  mourn,  O  Autumn  Winds, 

Lament  and  mourn ; 
How  many  half-blown  buds  must  close  and  die ; 

Hopes  with  the  Summer  born 
All  faded  lie, 

And  leave  us  desolate  and  Earth  forlorn  1 


i 

Wk 

1 

THE   UNKNOWN   GRAVE. 

'  0  name  to  bid  us  know 
Who  rests  below, 
No  word  of  death  or  birth, 
Only  the  grass's  wave, 
Over  a  mound  of  earth, 
Over  a  nameless  grave. 

Did  this  poor  wandering  heart 

In  pain  depart  ? 
Longing,  but  all  too  late, 

For  the  calm  home  again, 
Where  patient  watchers  wait, 

And  still  will  wait  in  vain. 


Did  mourners  come  in  scorn, 
And  thus  forlorn 


GIVE  ME  THY  HEART.  75 

Leave  him,  with  grief  and  shame, 

To  silence  and  decay, 
A.nd  hide  the  tarnished  name 

Of  the  unconscious  clay  ? 

It  may  be  from  his  side 

His  loved  ones  died, 
And,  last  of  some  bright  band, 

(Together  now  once  more,) 
He  sought  his  home,  the  land 

Where  they  had  gone  before. 

No  matter,  —  limes  have  mado 

As  cool  a  shade, 
And  lingering  breezes  pass 

As  tenderly  and  slow, 
As  if  beneath  the  grass 

A  monarch  slept  below. 

No  grief,  though  loud  and  deep, 

Could  stir  that  sleep  ; 
And  earth  and  heaven  tell 

Of  rest  that  shall  not  cease, 
Where  the  cold  world's  farewell 

Fades  into  endless  peace. 


GIVE   ME    THY   HEART. 

ITH  echoing  steps  the  worshippers 
Departed  one  by  one  ; 
The  organ's  pealing  voice  was  stilled, 
The  vesper  hymn  was  done ; 


76  GIVE  ME   TITY  BEAKT. 

The  shadows  fell  from  roof  and  arch, 

Dim  was  the  incensed  air, 
One  lamp  alone,  with  trembling  ray, 

Told  of  the  Presence  there ! 

In  the  dark  church  she  knelt  alone  ; 

Her  tears  were  falling  fast ; 
"  Help,  Lord,"  she  cried,  "  the  shades  of  deatb 

Upon  my  soul  are  cast ! 
Have  I  not  shunned  the  path  of  sin, 

And  chosen  the  better  part  ?  " 
What  voice  came  through  the  sacred  airl  — 

"My  child,  give  me  thy  Heart  I  " 

"  Have  I  not  laid  before  Thy  shrine 

My  wealth,  0  Lord?  "  she  cried; 
"  Have  I  kept  aught  of  gems  or  gold, 

To  minister  to  pride  3 
Have  I  not  bade  youth's  joys  retire, 

And  vain  delights  depart  1  "  — 
But  sad  and  tender  was  the  voice, — 

"  My  child,  give  me  thy  Heart  J  " 

"  Have  I  not,  Lord,  gone  day  by  day 

Where  Thy  poor  children  dwell ; 
And  carried  help,  and  gold,  and  food? 

O  Lord,  Thou  knowest  it  well ! 
From  many  a  house,  from  many  a  soul, 

My  hand  bids  care  depart "  :  — 
More  sad,  more  tender  was  the  voice,  — 

"  My  child,  give  me  thy  Heart  !  " 

"  Have  I  not  worn  my  strength  away 
With  fast  aud  penance  sore  1 


GIVE  ME   THY  IIEART.  77 

Have  I  not  watched  and  wept  1 "  she  cried ; 

"  Did  Thy  dear  Saints  do  more  ? 
Have  I  not  gained  Thy  grace,  0  Lord, 

And  won  in  Heaven  my  part?  "  — 
It  echoed  louder  in  her  soul,  — 

"  My  child,  (jive  me  thy  Heart! 

"  For  I  have  loved  thee  with  a  love 

No  mortal  heart  can  show ; 
A  love  so  deep,  my  Saints  in  heaven 

Its  depths  can  never  know  : 
When  pierced  and  wounded  on  the  Cross, 

Man's  sin  and  doom  were  mine, 
I  loved  thee  with  undying  love, 

Immortal  and  divine  ! 

"  I  loved  thee  ere  the  skies  were  spread ; 

My  soul  hears  all  thy  pains  ; 
To  gain  thy  love  my  sacred  Heart 

In  earthly  shrines  remains  : 
Vain  are  thy  offerings,  vain  thy  sighs, 

Without  one  gift  divine; 
Give  it,  my  child,  thy  Heart  to  me, 

And  it  shall  rest  in  mine  !  " 

In  awe  she  listened,  and  the  shade 

Passed  from  her  soul  away ; 
In  low  and  trembling  voice  she  cried,  — 

"  Lord,  help  me  to  obey  ! 
Break  Thou  the  chains  of  earth,  O  Lord, 

That  bind  and  hold  my  heart ; 
Let  it  be  Thine,  and  Thine  alone, 

Let  none  with  Thee  have  part. 


7S  THE   WAYSIDE  /AW. 

"  Send  down,  O  Lord,  Thy  sacred  fms ! 

Consume  and  cleanse  the  sin 
That  lingers  still  within  its  depths : 

Let  heavenly  love  begin. 
That  sacred  flame  Thy  Saints-  have  known, 

Kindle,  O  Lord,  in  me, 
Thou  above  all  the  rest  forever, 

And  all  the  rest  in  Thee." 

The  blessing  fell  upon  her  soul ; 

Her  angel  by  her  side 
Knew  that  the  hour  of  peace  was  come  ; 

Her  soul  was  purified  : 
The  shadows  fell  from  roof  and  arch, 

Dim  was  the  incensed  air,  — 
But  Peace  went  with  her  as  she  left 

The  sacred  Presence  there  ! 


THE   WAYSEOE   INN. 


^\  LITTLE  past  the  village 

^}        The  Inn  stood,  low  and  white ; 


Green  shady  trees  behind  it, 
And  an  orchard  on  the  right ; 
Where  over  the  green  paling 

The  red-checked  apples  hung, 
As  if  to  watch  how  wearily 

The  sign-board  creaked  and  swung. 


THE  WAYSIDE  INN.  79 

The  hcaw-laden  branches, 

Over  the  road  hung  low, 
Reflected  fruit  or  blossom 

From  the  wayside  well  below ; 
"Where  children,  drawing  water, 

Looked  up  and  paused  to  sec, 
Amid  the  apple-branches, 

A  purple  Judas-Tree. 

The  road  stretched  winding  onward 

For  many  a  weary  mile,  — 
So  dusty,  foot-sore  wanderers 

Would  pause  and  rest  awhile ; 
And  panting  horses  halted, 

And  travellers  loved  to  tell 
The  quiet  of  the  wayside  inn, 

The  orchard,  and  the  well. 

Here  Mam-ice  dwelt ;  and  often 

The  sunburnt  boy  would  stand 
Gazing  upon  the  distance, 

And  shading  with  his  hand 
His  eyes,  while  watching  vainly 

For  travellers,  who  might  need 
His  aid  to  loose  the  bridle, 

And  tend  the  weary  steed. 

And  once  (the  boy  remembered 

That  morning  many  a  day,  — 
The  dew  lay  on  the  hawthorn, 

The  bird  sang  on  the  spray) 
A  train  of  horsemen,  nobler 

Than  he  had  seen  before, 
Up  from  the  distance  galloped, 

And  halted  at  the  door. 


80  THE  WAYSIDE  INN. 

Upon  a  milk-white  pony, 

Fit  for  a  faery  queen, 
Was  the  loveliest  little  damsel 

His  eyes  had  ever  seen  : 
A  serving-man  was  holding 

The  leading  rein,  to  guide 
The  pony  and  its  mistress, 

Who  eantercd  by  his  side. 

Her  sunny  ringlets  round  her 

A  golden  cloud  had  made, 
While  her  large  hat  was  keeping 

Her  calm  blue  eyes  in  shade  ; 
One  hand  held  fast  the  silken  reina 

To  keep  her  steed  in  check, 
The  other  pulled  his  tangled  mane, 

Or  stroked  his  glossy  neck. 

And  as  the  boy  brought  water, 

And  loosed  the  rein,  he  heard 
The  sweetest  voice  that  thanked  him 

In  one  low  gentle  word ; 
She  turned  her  blue  eyes  from  him, 

Looked  up,  and  smiled  to  see 
The  hanging  purple  blossoms 

Upon  the  Judas-Tree ; 

And  showed  it  with  a  gesture, 

Half  pleading,  half  command, 
Till  he  broke  the  fairest  blossom, 

And  laid  it  in  her  hand ; 
And  she  tied  it  to  her  saddle 

With  a  ribbon  from  her  hair, 
While  her  happy  laugh  rang  gayly, 

Like  silver  ou  the  air. 


THE  WAYSIDE  INN  81 

But  the  champing  steeds  were  rested,  — 

The  horsemen  now  spurred  on, 
And  down  the  dusty  highway 

They  vanished  and  were  gone. 
Years  passed,  and  many  a  traveller 

Paused  at  the  old  inn-door, 
But  the  little  milk-white  pony 

And  the  child  returned  uo  more. 

Years  passed,  the  apple-branches 

A  deeper  shadow  shed  ; 
And  many  a  time  the  Judas-Tree, 

Blossom  and  leaf,  lay  dead  ; 
When  on  the  loitering  western  breeze 

Came  the  bells'  merry  sound, 
And  flowery  arches  rose,  and  flags 

And  banners  waved  around. 

Maurice  stood  there  expectant : 

The  bridal  train  would  stay 
Some  moments  at  the  inn-door, 

The  eager  watchers  say  ; 
They  come,  —  the  cloud  of  dust  draws  near,  — 

'Mid  all  the  state  and  pride, 
He  only  sees  the  golden  hair 

And  blue  eyes  of  the  bride. 

The  same,  yet,  ah,  still  fairer ; 

He  knew  the  face  once  more 
That  bent  above  the  pony's  neck 

Years  past  at  that  inn-door : 
Her  ,-:hy  and  smiling  eyes»Iooked  round. 

Unconscious  of  the  place, 
Unconscious  of  the  eager  gaze 

He  fixed  upon  her  face. 
6 


82  THE  WAYSIDE  INN. 

He  plucked  a  blossom  from  the  tree  — 

The  Judas-Tree  —  and  east 
Its  purple  fragrance  towards  the  Bride, 

A  message  from  the  Past. 
The  signal  came,  the  horses  plunged,— 

Once  more  she  smiled  around : 
The  purple  blossom  in  the  dust 

Lay  trampled  on  the  ground. 

Again  the  slow  years  fleeted, 

Their  passage  only  known 
By  the  height  the  Passion-flower 

Around  the  porch  had  grown ; 
And  many  a  passing  traveller 

Paused  at  the  old  inn-door, 
But  the  bride,  so  fair  and  blooming, 

The  bride  returned  no  more. 

One  winter  morning,  Maurice, 

Watching  the  branches  bare, 
Bustling  and  waving  dimly 

In  the  gray  and  misty  air, 
Saw  blazoned  on  a  carriage 

Once  more  the  well-known  shield, 
The  stars  and  azure  fleurs-de-lis 

Upon  a  silver  field. 

He  looked  —  was  that  pale  woman, 

So  grave,  so  worn,  so  sad, 
The  child,  once  young  and  smiling, 

The  bride,  once  fair  and  glad  ? 
What  grief  l*d  dimmed  that  glory, 

And  brought  that  dark  eclipse 
Upon  her  blue  eyes'  radiance, 

And  paled  those  trembling  lips  * 


THE  WAYSIDE  INN.  83 

W  hat  memory  of  past  sorrow, 

What  stab  of  present  pain, 
Brought  that  deep  look  of  anguish, 

That  watched  the  dismal  rain, 
That  watched  (with  the  ahscnt  spirit 

That  looks,  yet  does  not  see) 
The  dead  and  leafless  branches 

Upon  the  Judas-Tree. 

The  slow  dark  months  crept  onward 

Upon  their  icy  way, 
Till  April  broke  in  showers, 

And  Spring  smiled  forth  in  May ; 
Upon  the  apple-blossoms 

The  sun  shone  bright  again, 
When  slowly  up  the  highway 

Came  a  long  funeral  train. 

The  bells  tolled  slowly,  sadly, 

For  a  noble  spirit  fled; 
Slowly,  in  pomp  and  honor, 

They  bore  the  quiet  dead. 
Upon  a  black-plumed  charger 

One  rode,  who  held  a  shield, 
Where  stars  and  azure  fleiirs-de-lifl 

Shone  on  a  silver  field. 

'Mid  all  that  homage  given 

To  a  fluttering  heart  at  rest, 
Perhaps  an  honest  sorrow 

Dwelt  only  in  one  breast. 
One  by  the  inn-door  standing 

Watched  with  fast-dropping  tears 
The  long  procession  passing, 

And  thought  of  bygone  years. 


84  VOICES  OF  THE  PAST. 

The  boyish,  silent  homage 

To  child  and  bride  unknown, 
The  pitying  tender  sorrow 

Kept  in  his  heart  alone, 
Now  laid  upon  the  coffin 

With  a  purple  flower,  might  be 
Told  to  the  cold,  dead  sleeper ;  — 

The  rest  could  only  see 
A  fragrant  purple  blossom, 

Plucked  from  a  Judas-Tree. 


VOICES    OF   THE   PAST. 

OU  wonder  that  my  tears  should  flow 
In  listening  to  that  simple  strain ; 
That  those  unskilful  sounds  should  fill 
My  soul  with  joy  and  pain  : 
How  can  you  tell  what  thoughts  it  stirs 
Within  my  heart  again  ? 

You  wonder  why  that  common  phrase, 

So  all  unmeaning  to  your  ear, 
Should  stay  me  in  my  merriest  mood, 

And  thrill  my  soul  to  hear : 
How  can  you  tell  what  ancient  charm 

Has  made  me  hold  it  dear  ? 

You  man-el  that  I  turn  away 

From  all  those  flowers  so  fair  and  bright, 
And  gaze  at  this  poor  herb,  till  tears 

Arise  and  dim  my  sight : 


THE  DARK  SIDE.  85 

You  cannot  tell  how  every  leaf 
Breathes  of  a  past  delight. 

You  smile  to  see  me  turn  and  speak 
With  one  whose  converse  you  despise; 

You  do  not  see  the  dreams  of  old 
That  with  his  voice  arise  : 

How  can  you  tell  what  links  have  made 
Him  sacred  in  my  eyes  1 

O  these  are  Voices  of  the  Past, 

Links  of  a  broken  chain, 
Wings  that  can  bear  me  back  to  Times 

Which  cannot  come  again  : 
Yet  God  forbid  that  I  should  lose 

The  echoes  that  remain  ! 


THE   DARK   SIDE. 

HOU  hast  done  well,  perhaps, 
To  lift  the  bright  disguise, 
And  lay  the  bitter  truth 
Before  our  shrinking  eyes ; 
When  evil  crawls  below 

What  seems  so  pure  and  fair, 
Thine  eyes  arc  keen  and  true 
To  find  the  serpent  there  : 
And  yet  —  I  turn  away  ; 

Thy  task  is  not  divine,  — 
The  evil  angels  look 

On  earth  with  eyes  like  thine. 


86  THE  DARK  SIDE. 

Thou  hast  clone  well,  perhaps, 

To  show  how  closely  wound 
Dark  threads  of  sin  and  self 

With  our  best  deeds  are  found, 
How  great  and  noble  hearts, 

Striving  for  lofty  aims, 
Have  still  some  earthly  chord 

A  meaner  spirit  claims  ; 
And  yet  —  although  thy  task 

Is  well  and  fairly  done, 
Methinks  for  such  as  thou 

There  is  a  holier  one. 

Shadows  there  are,  who  dwell 

Among  us,  yet  apart, 
Deaf  to  the  claim  of  God, 

Or  kindly  human  heart ; 
Voices  of  earth  and  heaven 

Call,  but  they  turn  away, 
And  Love,  through  such  black  night, 

Can  see  no  hope  of  day  ; 
And  yet  —  our  eyes  are  dim, 

And  thine  are  keener  far  : 
Then  gaze  till  thou  canst  see 

The  glimmer  of  some  star. 

The  black  stream  flows  along 

"Whose  waters  we  despise,  — 
Show  us  reflected  there 

Some  fragment  of  the  skies  ; 
'2scath  tangled  thorns  and  briers, 

(The  task  is  fit  for  thee,) 
Seek  for  the  hidden  flowers, 

We  are  too  blind  to  see ; 


A  FIRST  SORROW.  87 

Then  will  I  thy  great  gift 

A  crown  and  blessing  call ; 
Angels  look  thus  on  men, 

And  God  sees  good  in  all ! 


A  FIRST   SORROW. 

J^RISE  !    this  day  shall  shine, 
Forcvermore, 
To  thee  a  star  divine, 
On  Time's  dark  shore. 

Till  now  thy  soul  has  been 

All  glad  and  gay  : 
Bid  it  awake,  and  look 

At  grief  to-day  ! 

No  shade  has  come  between 

Thee  and  the  sun  ; 
Like  some  long  childish  dream 

Thy  life  has  run  : 

But  now  the  stream  has  reached 

A  dark,  deep  sea, 
And  Sorrow,  dim  and  crowned, 

Is  waiting  thee. 

Each  of  God's  soldiers  bears 

A  sword  divine : 
Stretch  out  thy  trembling  hands 

To-day  for  thine ! 


88  MURMURS. 

To  each  anointed  Priest 
God's  summons  came  : 

O  Soul,  he  speaks  to-day, 
And  calls  thy  name. 

Then,  with  slow  reverent  step, 

And  beating  heart, 
From  out  thy  joyous  days 

Thou  must  depart. 

And,  leaving  all  behind, 

Come  forth  alone, 
To  join  the  chosen  band 

Around  the  throne. 

Raise  up  thine  eyes  —  be  strong, 

Nor  cast  away 
The  crown  that  God  has  given 

Thy  soul  to-day  ! 


MURMURS. 


HY  wilt  thou  make  bright  music 
Give  forth  a  sound  of  pain  ? 
Why  wilt  thou  weave  fair  flowers 
Into  a  weary  chain  ? 


Why  turn  each  cool  gray  shadow 

Into  a  world  of  fears  1 
Why  say  the  winds  are  wailing  ? 

Why  call  the  dewdrops  tears  1 


MURMURS. 

The  voices  of  happy  nature, 

And  the  Heaven's  sunny  gleam, 

Reprove  thy  sick  heart's  fancies, 
Upbraid  thy  foolish  dream. 

Listen,  and  I  will  tell  thee 

The  song  Creation  sings, 
From  the  humming  of  bees  in  the  heather, 

To  the  nutter  of  angels'  wings. 

An  echo  rings  forever, 

The  sound  can  never  cease  ; 
It  speaks  to  God  of  glory, 

It  speaks  to  Earth  of  peace. 

Not  alone  did  angels  sing  it 

To  the  poor  shepherds'  ear  ; 
But  the  sphered  Heavens  chant  it, 

While  listening  ages  hear. 

Above  thy  peevish  wailing 

Rises  that  holy  song  ; 
Above  Earth's  foolish  clamor, 

Above  the  voice  of  wrong. 

No  creature  of  God's  too  lowly 
To  murmur  peace  and  praise  : 

When  the  starry  nights  grow  silent, 
Then  speak  the  sunny  days. 

So  leave  thy  sick  heart's  fancies, 

And  lend  thy  little  voice 
To  the  silver  song  of  glory 

That  bids  the  world  rejoice. 


GIVE. 


GIVE. 


EE  the  rivers  flowing 
Downwards  to  the  sea, 
Pouring  all  their  treasures 
Bountiful  and  free : 
Yet  to  help  their  giving 
Hidden  springs  arise ; 
Or,  if  need  be,  showers 
Feed  them  from  the  skies  ! 


Watch  the  princely  flowers 

Their  rich  fragrance  spread, 
Load  the  air  with  perfumes, 

From  their  beauty  shed : 
Yet  their  lavish  spending 

Leaves  them  not  in  dearth, 
With  fresh  life  replenished 

By  their  mother  earth  ! 

Give  thy  heart's  best  treasures,- 

From  fair  Nature  learn  ; 
Give  thy  love  —  and  ask  not, 

Wait  not  a  return  ! 
And  the  more  thou  spendest 

From  thy  little  store, 
With  a  double  bounty, 

God  will  give  thee  more. 


MY  JOURNAL  91 


MY  JOURNAL. 

T  is  a  dreary  evening  ; 

The  shadows  rise  and  fall : 
With  strange  and  ghostly  changes, 
They  flicker  on  the  wall. 


Make  the  charred  logs  burn  brighter ; 

I  will  show  you,  by  their  blaze, 
The  half-forgotten  record 

Of  bygone  things  and  days. 

Bring  here  the  ancient  volume  ; 

The  clasp  is  old  and  worn, 
The  gold  is  dim  and  tarnished, 

And  the  faded  leaves  are  torn. 

The  dust  has  gathered  on  it,  — 
There  arc  so  few  who  care 

To  read  what  Time  has  written 
Of  joy  and  sorrow  there. 

Look  at  the  first  fair  pages  ; 

Yes,  I  remember  all : 
The  joys  now  seem  so  trivial, 

The  griefs  so  poor  and  small. 

Let  us  read  the  dreams  of  glory 
That  childish  fancy  made  ; 

Turn  to  the  next  few  pages, 
And  see  how  soon  they  fade. 


92  MY  JOURNAL. 

Here,  where  still  waiting,  dreaming, 

For  some  ideal  Life, 
The  young  heart  all  unconscious 

Had  entered  on  the  strife. 

See  how  this  page  is  blotted  : 

What,  could  those  tears  be  mine? 

How  coolly  I  can  read  you 

Each  blurred  and  trembling  line. 

Now  I  can  reason  calmly, 
And,  looking  back  again, 

Can  see  divinest  meaning 

Threading  each  separate  pain. 

Here  strong  resolve  —  how  broken  ; 

Rash  hope,  and  foolish  fear, 
And  prayers,  which  God  in  pity 

Refused  to  grant  or  hear. 

Nay,  I  will  turn  the  page3 
To  where  the  tale  is  told 

Of  how  a  dawn  diviner 

Flushed  the  dark  clouds  with  gold. 

And  see,  that  light  has  gilded 
The  story  —  nor  shall  set ; 

And,  though  in  mist  and  shadow, 
You  know  I  see  it  yet. 

Here  —  well,  it  does  not  matter, 

I  promised  to  read  all ; 
I  know  not  why  I  falter, 

Or  why  my  tears  should  fall ; 


MY  JOURNAL.  93 

You  sec  each  grief  is  noted  ; 

Yet  it  was  better  so  — 
I  can  rejoice  to-day  —  the  pain 

Was  over,  long  ago. 

I  read  —  my  voice  is  failing, 

But  you  can  understand 
How  the  heart  beat  that  guided 

This  weak  and  trembling  hand. 

Pass  over  that  long  struggle, 
Read  where  the  comfort  came, 

Where  the  first  time  is  written 
Within  the  book  your  name. 

Again  it  comes,  and  oftener, 

Linked,  as  it  now  must  be, 
With  all  the  joy  or  sorrow 

That  Life  may  bring  to  me. 

So  all  the  rest  —  you  know  it : 

Now  shut  the  clasp  again, 
And  put  aside  the  record 

Of  bygone  hours  of  pain. 

The  dust  shall  gather  on  it, 

I  will  not  read  it  more : 
Give  me  your  hand —  what  was  it 

We  were  talking  of  before  ? 

I  know  not  why  —  but  tell  me 
Of  something  gay  and  bright. 

It  is  strange  —  my  heart  is  heavy, 
And  my  eyes  are  dim  to-night. 


94 


A    CHAIN. 


A    CHAIN. 


FIE  bond  that  links  our  souls  together ; 
Will  it  last  through  stormy  weather  ? 
Will  it  moulder  and  decay 
As  the  long  hours  pass  away  ? 

Will  it  stretch  if  Fate  divide  us, 

When  dark  and  weary  hours  have  tried  us  ? 

O,  if  it  look  too  poor  and  slight, 

Let  us  break  the  links  to-night ! 

It  was  not  forged  by  mortal  hands, 

Or  clasped  with  golden  bars  and  bands  ; 

Save  thine  and  mine,  no  other  eyes 

The  slender  link  can  recognize  : 

In  the  bright  light  it  seems  to  fade  — 

And  it  is  hidden  in  the  shade ; 

While  Heaven  nor  Earth  have  never  heard, 

Or  solemn  vow,  or  plighted  word. 

Yet  what  no  mortal  hand  could  make, 
No  mortal  power  can  ever  break ; 
What  words  or  vows  could  never  do, 
No  words  or  vows  can  make  untrue; 
And  if  to  other  hearts  unknown 
Tlie  dearer  and  the  more  our  own, 
Because  too  sacred  and  divine 
For  other  eyes,  save  thine  and  mine. 

And  see,  though  slender,  it  is  made 
Of  Love  and  Trust,  and  can  they  fade  ? 


TI1E  PILGRIMS.  95 

While,  if  too  slight  it  seem,  to  bear 
The  breathings  of  the  summer  air, 
We  know  that  it  could  bear  the  weight 
Of  a  most  heavy  heart  of  late, 
And  as  each  day  and  hour  flew 
The  stronger  for  its  burthen  grew. 

And,  too,  we  know  and  feel  again 
It  has  been  sanctified  by  pain, 
For  what  God  deigns  to  try  with  sorrow 
He  means  not  to  decay  to-morrow ; 
But  through  that  fiery  trial  last 
When  earthly  ties  and  bonds  are  past ; 
What  slighter  things  dare  not  endure 
Will  make  our  Love  more  safe  and  pure. 

Love  shall  be  purified  by  Pain, 
And  Pain  be  soothed  by  Love  again : 
So  let  us  now  take  heart  and  go 
Cheerfully  on,  through  joy  and  woe  ; 
No  change  the  summer  sun  can  bring, 
Or  the  inconstant  skies  of  spring, 
Or  the  bleak  winter's  stormy  weather, 
For  we  shall  meet  them,  Love,  together! 


THE   PILGRDIS. 

HE  way  is  long  and  dreary, 
The  path  is  bleak  and  bare ; 
Our  feet  are  worn  and  weary, 
But  we  will  not  despair. 


j,  5  INCOMPLETENESS. 

More  heavy  was  Thy  burthen, 
More  desolate  Thy  way ;  — 
O  Lamb  of  God  who  takest 
The  sin  of  the  world  away, 
Have  mercy  on  us. 

The  snows  lie  thick  around  us 
In  the  dark  and  gloomy  night ; 
And  the  tempest  wails  above  us, 
And  the  stars  have  hid  their  light ; 
But  blacker  was  the  darkness 
Round  Calvary's  Cross  that  day ;  — 
O  Lamb  of  God  who  takest 
The  sin  of  the  world  away, 
Have  mercy  on  us. 

Our  hearts  are  faint  with  sorrow, 
Heavy  and  hard  to  bear ; 
For  we  dread  the  bitter  morrow, 
But  we  will  not  despair  : 
Thou  knowest  all  our  anguish, 
And  Thou  wilt  bid  it  cease,  — 
O  Lamb  of  God  who  takest 
The  sin  of  the  world  away, 
Give  us  Thy  Peace! 


INCOMPLETENESS. 

OTHING  resting  in  its  own  completeness 
Can  have  worth  or  beauty :  but  alone 
Because   it  leads    and  tends  to  farthei 
sweetness, 
Fuller,  higher,  deeper  than  its  own. 


INCOMPLETENESS.  97 

Spring's  real  glory  dwells  not  in  the  meaning, 
Gracious  though  it  be,  of  her  blue  hours ; 
But  is  hidden  in  her  tender  leaning 
To  the  Summer's  richer  wealth  of  flowers. 

Dawn  is  fair,  because  the  mists  fade  slowly 
Into  Day,  which  floods  the  world  with  light ; 
Twilight's  mystery  is  so  sweet  and  holy 
Just  because  it  ends  in  starry  Night. 

Childhood's  smiles  unconscious  graces  borrow 
From  Strife,  that  in  a  far-off"  future  lies  ; 
And  angel  glances  (veiled  now  by  Life's  sorrow) 
Draw  our  hearts  to  some  beloved  eyes. 

Life  is  only  bright  when  it  proceedeth 
Towards  a  truer,  deeper  Life  above ; 
Human  Love  is  sweetest  when  it  leadeth 
To  a  more  divine  and  perfect  Love. 

Learn  the  mystery  of  Progression  duly  : 
Do  not  call  each  glorious  change,  Decay ; 
But  know  we  only  hold  our  treasures  truly, 
When  it  seems  as  if  they  passed  away. 

Nor  dare  to  blame  God's  gifts  for  incompleteness ; 
In  that  want  their  beauty  lies  :  they  roll 
Towards  some  infinite  depth  of  love  and  sweetness, 
Bearing  onward  man's  reluctant  soul. 


98      A  LEGEND   OF  BREGENZ. 


A  LEGEND  OF  BREGENZ. 

IRT  round  with  rugged  mountains 
The  fair  Lake  Constance  lies ; 
In  her  blue  heart  reflected 
Shine  back  the  starry  skies ; 
And,  watching  each  white  cloudlet 

Float  silently  and  slow, 
You  think  a  piece  of  Heaven 
Lies  on  our  earth  below ! 

Midnight  is  there  :  and  Silence, 

Enthroned  in  Heaven,  looks  down 
Upon  her  own  calm  mirror, 

Upon  a  sleeping  town : 
For  Bregenz,  that  quaint  city 

Upon  the  Tyrol  shore, 
Has  stood  above  Lake  Constance 

A  thousand  years  and  more. 

Her  battlements  and  towers,   . 

From  off  their  rocky  steep, 
Have  cast  their  trembling  shadow 

For  ages  on  the  deep  : 
Mountain,  and  lake,  and  valley, 

A  sacred  legend  know, 
Of  how  the  town  was  saved,  one  night, 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 

Far  from  her  home  and  kindred, 
A  Tyrol  maid  had  fled, 


A  LEGEND    OF  DREGENZ.  99 

To  serve  in  the  Swiss  valleys, 

And  toil  for  daily  bread ; 
And  every  year  that  fleeted 

So  silently  and  fast, 
Seemed  to  bear  farther  from  her 

The  memory  of  the  Fast. 

She  served  kind,  gentle  masters, 

Nor  asked  for  rest  or  change ; 
Her  friends  seemed  no  more  new  ones, 

Their  speech  seemed  no  more  strange ; 
And  when  she  led  her  cattle 

To  pasture  every  day, 
She  ceased  to  look  and  wonder 

On  which  side  Bregenz  lay. 

She  spoke  no  more  of  Bregenz, 

With  longing  and  with  tears  ; 
Her  Tyrol  home  seemed  faded 

In  a  deep  mist  of  years  ; 
She  heeded  not  the  rumors 

Of  Austrian  war  and  strife ; 
Each  day  she  rose  contented, 

To  the  calm  toils  of  life. 

Yet,  when  her  master's  children 

Would  clustering  round  her  stand, 
She  sang  them  ancient  ballads 

Of  her  own  native  land  ; 
And  when  at  morn  and  evening 

She  knelt  before  God's  throne, 
The  accents  of  her  childhood 

Rose  to  her  lips  alone. 


loo  A  LEGEND    OF  BREGLNZ. 

And  so  she  dwelt  :  the  valley 

More  peaceful  year  by  year ; 
When  suddenly  strange  portents, 

Of  some  great  deed  seemed  near. 
The  golden  corn  was  bending 

Upon  its  fragile  stalk, 
While  farmers,  heedless  of  their  fields, 

Paced  up  and  down  in  talk. 

The  men  seemed  stern  and  altered, 

With  looks  cast  on  the  ground; 
With  anxious  faces,  one  by  one, 

The  women  gathered  round ; 
All  talk  of  flax,  or  spinning, 

Or  work,  was  put  away  ; 
The  very  children  seemed  afraid 

To  go  alone  to  play. 

One  day,  out  in  the  meadow 

With  strangers  from  the  town, 
Some  secret  plan  discussing, 

The  men  walked  up  and  down. 
Yet  now  and  then  seemed  watching 

A  strange  uncertain  gleam, 
That  looked  like  lances  'mid  the  trees, 

That  stood  below  the  stream. 

At  eve  they  all  assembled, 

Then  care  and  doubt  were  fled ; 
With  jovial  laugh  they  feasted  ; 

The  board  was  nobly  spread. 
The  elder  of  the  village 

Rose  up,  his  glass  in  hand, 
And  cried,  "  We  drink  the  downfall 

Of  an  accursed  land  ! 


A  LEGEND    OF  BREGENZ.  iol 

•'  The  night  is  growing  darker, 

Ere  one  more  day  is  flown, 
Bregenz,  our  foemen's  stronghold, 

Bregenz  shall  he  our  own  !  " 
Tlie  women  shrank  in  terror, 

(Yet  Pride,  too,  had  her  part,) 
But  one  poor  Tyrol  maiden 

Felt  deatli  within  her  heart. 

Before  her  stood  fair  Bregenz ; 

Once  more  her  towers  arose ; 
"What  were  the  friends  beside  her  1 

Only  her  country's  foes ! 
The  faces  of  her  kinsfolk, 

The  days  of  childhood  flown, 
The  echoes  of  her  mountains, 

Reclaimed  her  as  their  own  ! 

Notlung  she  heard  around  her, 

(Though  shouts  rang  forth  again,) 
Gone  were  the  green  Swiss  valleys, 

The  pasture,  and  the  plain ; 
Before  her  eyes  one  vision, 

And  in  her  heart  one  cry, 
That  said,  "  Go  forth,  save  Bregenz, 

And  then,  if  need  be,  die  !  " 

"With  trembling  haste  and  breathless, 

With  noiseless  step,  she  sped ; 
Horses  and  weary  cattle 

Were  standing  in  the  shed ; 
She  loosed  the  strong,  white  charger, 

That  fed  from  out  her  hand, 
She  mounted,  and  she  turned  his  head 

Towards  her  native  land. 


loa  A  LEGEND    OF  BREGENZ. 

Out  —  out  into  the  darkness  — 

Faster,  and  still  more  fast; 
The  smooth  grass  flies  behind  her, 

The  chestnut  wood  is  past  ; 
She  looks  up  ;  clouds  arc  heavy : 

Why  is  her  steed  so  slow  "?  — 
Scarcely  the  wind  beside  them 

Can  pass  them  as  they  go. 

"  Faster  !  "    she  cries,    "  0  faster  !  " 

Eleven  the  church-bells  chime  : 
"  0  God,"  she  cries,  "  help  Bregenz, 

And  bring  me  there  in  time  !  " 
But  louder  than  bells'  ringing, 

Or  lowing  of  the  kine, 
Grows  nearer  in  the  midnight 

The  rushing  of  the  Rhine. 

Shall  not  the  roaring  waters 

Their  headlong  gallop  check  ? 
The  steed  draws  back  in  terror, 

She  leans  upon  his  neck 
To  watch  the  flowing  darkness  ; 

The  bank  is  high  and  steep  ; 
One  pause  —  he  staggers  forward, 

And  plunges  in  the  deep. 

She  strives  to  pierce  the  blackness, 

And  looser  throws  the  rein  ; 
Her  steed  must  breast  the  waters 

That  dash  above  his  mane. 
How  gallantly,  how  nobly, 

He  straggles  through  the  foam, 
And  see  —  in  the  far  distance 

Shine  out  the  lights  of  home  ! 


A  LEGEND   OF  BREGENZ.  103 

Up  the  steep  banks  be  bears  her, 

And  now,  they  rush  again 
Towards  the  heights  of  Bregenz, 

That  tower  above  the  plain. 
They  reach  the  pate  of  Bregenz, 

Just  as  the  midnight  rings, 
And  out  come  serf  and  soldier 

To  meet  the  news  she  brings. 

Bregenz  is  saved  !     Ere  daylight 

Her  battlements  arc  manned  ; 
Defiance  greets  the  army 

That  marches  on  the  land. 
And  if  to  deeds  heroic 

Should  endless  fame  be  paid, 
Bregenz  docs  well  to  honor 

The  noble  Tyrol  maid. 

Three  hundred  years  are  vanished, 

And  yet  upon  the  hill 
An  old  stone  gateway  rises, 

To  do  her  honor  still. 
And  there,  when  Bregenz  women 

Sit  spinning  in  the  shade, 
They  sec  in  quaint  old  carving 

The  Charger  and  the  Maid. 

And  when,  to  guard  old  Bregenz, 

By  gateway,  street,  and  tower, 
The  warder  paces  all  night  long 

And  calls  each  passing  hour  ; 
"  Nine,"  "  ten,"  "  eleven,"  he  cries  aloud, 

And  then  (0  crown  of  Fame  !) 
When  midnight  pauses  in  the  skies, 

He  calls  the  maiden's  name  I 


104 


A   FAREWELL. 


A  FAREWELL. 


AREWELL,  0  dream  of  mine  ! 
I  dare  not  stay  ; 
The  hour  is  come,  and  time 
Will  not  delay : 
Pleasant  and  dear  to  me 

Wilt  thou  remain ; 
No  future  hour 
Brings  thee  again. 

She  stands,  the  Future  dim, 

And  draws  me  on, 
And  shows  me  dearer  joys,  — 

But  thou  art  gone  ! 
Treasures  and  Hopes  more  fair 

Bears  she  for  me, 
And  yet  I  linger, 

O  dream,  with  thee ! 

Other  and  brighter  days 

Perhaps  she  brings ; 
Deeper  and  holier  songs 

Perchance  she  sings ; 
But  thou  and  I,  fair  time, 

We  too  must  sever :  — 
O  dream  of  mine, 

Farewell  for  ever ! 


SOWING  AND  REAPING.  105 


SOWING   AXD    REAPING. 

OW  with  a  generous  hand  ; 

Pause  not  for  toil  or  pain  ; 
Weary  not  through  the  heat  of  summer, 
Weary  not  through  the  cold  spring 
rain  ; 
But  wait  till  the  autumn  comes 
For  the  sheaves  of  golden  grain. 

Scatter  the  seed,  and  fear  not, 

A  table  will  he  spread  ; 
What  matter  if  you  are  too  weary 

To  cat  your  hard-earned  bread : 
Sow,  while  the  earth  is  broken, 

Por  the  hungry  must  be  fed. 

Sow  ;  —  while  the  seeds  arc  lying 
In  the  warm  earth's  bosom  deep, 

And  your  warm  tears  fall  upon  it,  — 
They  will  stir  in  their  quiet  sleep  ; 

And  the  green  blades  rise  the  quicker, 
Perchance,  for  the  tears  you  weep. 

Then  sow  ;  —  for  the  hours  arc  fleeting, 

And  the  seed  must  fall  to-day ; 
And  care  not  what  hands  shall  reap  it, 

Or  if  you  shall  have  passed  away 
Before  the  waving  corn-fields 

Shall  gladden  the  sunny  day. 


Xo6  THE  STORM. 

Sow  ;   and  look  onward,  upward, 
Where  the  starry  light  appears,  — 

Where,  in  spite  of  the  coward's  doubting, 
Or  your  own  heart's  trembling  fears, 

You  shall  reap  in  joy  the  harvest 
You  have  sown  to-day  in  tears. 


THE    STORM. 


HE  tempest  rages  wild  and  high, 
The  waves  lift  up  their  voice  and  cry 
Fierce  answers  to  the  angry  sky,  — 
Miserere  Domine. 


Through  the  black  night  and  driving  rain, 
A  ship  is  struggling,  all  in  vain, 
To  live  upon  the  stormy  main ;  — 

Miserere  Domine. 

The  thunders  roar,  the  lightnings  glare, 
Vain  is  it  now  to  strive  or  dare ; 
A  cry  goes  up  of  great  despair,  — 

Miserere  Domine. 

The  6tormy  voices  of  the  main, 
The  moaning  wind  and  pelting  rain 
Beat  on  the  nursery  window-pane  :  — 
Miserere  Domine, 


WORDS.  107 

"Warm  curtained  was  the  little  bed, 
Soft  pillowed  was  the  little  head  ; 
"  The  storm  will  wake  the  child,"  they  said  :  — 
Miserere  Domine. 

Cowering  among  his  pillows  white 
He  prays,  his  blue  eyes  dim  with  fright, 
"  Father,  save  those  at  sea  to-night !  "  — 
Miserere  Domine. 

The  morning  shone  all  clear  and  gay, 
On  a  ship  at  anchor  in  the  bay, 
And  on  a  little  child  at  play,  — 

Gloria  tibi  Domine  I 


WORDS. 

ORDS  are  lighter  than  the  cloud-foam 
Of  the  restless  ocean  spray ; 
Vainer  than  the  trembling  shadow 
That  the  next  hour  steals  away. 
By  the  fall  of  summer  rain-drops 

Is  the  air  as  deeply  stirred  ; 
And  the  rose-leaf  that  we  tread  on 
Will  outlive  a  word. 

Yet,  on  the  dull  silence  breaking 
With  a  lightning  flash,  a  Word, 

Bearing  endless  desolation 

On  its  blighting  wings,  I  heard: 


io8  WORDS. 

Earth  can  forge  no  keener  weapon, 

Dealing  surer  death  and  pain, 
And  the  cruel  echo  answered 
Through  long  years  again. 

I  have  known  one  word  hang  starlike 
O'er  a  dreary  waste  of  years, 

And  it  only  shone  the  brighter 

Looked  at  through  a  mist  of  tears ; 

While  a  weary  wanderer  gathered 
Hope  and  heart  on  Life's  dark  way, 

By  its  faithful  promise,  shining 
Clearer  day  by  day. 

I  have  known  a  spirit,  calmer 
Than  the  calmest  lake,  and  clear 

As  the  heavens  that  gazed  upon  it, 
With  no  wave  of  hope  or  fear ; 

But  a  storm  had  swept  across  it, 
And  its  deepest  depths  were  stirred, 

(Never,  never  more  to  slumber,) 
Only  by  a  word. 

I  have  known  a  word  more  gentlo 
Than  the  breath  of  summer  air ; 

In  a  listening  heart  it  nestled, 
And  it  lived  forever  there. 

Not  the  beating  of  its  prison 
Stirred  it  ever,  night  or  day ; 

Only  with  the  heart's  last  throbbing 
Could  it  fade  away. 

Words  are  mighty,  words  are  living : 
Serpents  with  their  venomous  stings. 


A  LOVE   TOKEN.  109 

Or  bright  angels,  crowding  round  us, 
With  heaven's  light  upon  their  wings: 

Every  word  has  its  own  spirit, 
True  or  false,  that  never  dies ; 

Every  word  man's  lips  have  uttered 
Echoes  in  God's  sides. 


A   LOVE    TOKEN. 

0  you  grieve  no  costly  offering 
To  the  Lady  you  can  make  ? 
One  there  is,  and  gifts  less  worthy 
Queens  have  stooped  to  take. 


Take  a  Heart  of  virgin  silver, 
Fashion  it  with  heavy  blows, 

Cast  it  into  Love's  hot  furnace 
When  it  fiercest  glows. 

With  Pain's  sharpest  point  transfix  it, 
And  then  carve,  in  letters  fair, 

Tender  dreams  and  quaint  devices^ 
Fancies  sweet  and  rare. 

Set  within  it  Hope's  blue  sapphire, 

Many-changing  opal  fears, 
Blood-red  ruby-stones  of  daring, 

Mixed  with  pearly  tears. 

And  when  you  have  wrought  and  labored 
Till  the  gift  is  all  complete, 


no  A    TRYST   WITH  DEATH. 

You  may  humbly  lay  your  offering 
At  the  Lady's  feet. 

Should  her  mood  perchance  be  gracious, 
With  disdainful,  smiling  pride, 

She  will  place  it  with  the  trinkets 
Glittering  at  her  side. 


A   TRYST    WITH  DEATH. 


AM  footsore  and  very  -weary, 
But  I  travel  to  meet  a  Friend : 

The  M-ay  is  long  and  dreary, 

But  I  know  that  it  soon  must  end. 


He  is  travelling  fast  like  the  whirlwind, 
And  though  I  creep  slowly  on, 

We  are  drawing  nearer,  nearer, 
And  the  journey  is  almost  done. 

Through  the  heat  of  many  summers, 
Through  many  a  spring-time  rain, 

Through  long  autumns  and  weary  winters, 
I  have  hoped  to  meet  him  in  vain. 

I  know  that  he  will  not  fail  me, 
So  I  count  every  hour  chime, 

Every  throb  of  my  own  heart's  beating, 
That  tells  of  the  flight  of  Time. 


On  the  day  of  my  birth  he  plighted 
His  kingly  word  to  me  :  — 


F WELTS.  m 

I  have  seen  him  in  dreams  so  often, 
That  I  know  what  his  smile  must  be. 

I  have  toiled  through  the  sunny  woodland, 
Through  fields  that  basked  in  the  light ; 

And  through  the  lone  paths  in  the  forest 
I  crept  in  the  dead  of  night. 

I  will  not  fear  at  his  coming, 

Although  I  must  meet  him  alone ; 

He  will  look  in  my  eyes  so  gently, 
And  take  my  hand  in  his  own. 

Like  a  dream  all  my  toil  will  vanish, 
When  I  lay  my  head  on  his  breast: 

But  the  journey  is  very  weary, 
And  he  only  can  give  me  rest  1 


FIDELIS. 

OU  have  taken  back  the  promise 
That  you  spoke  so  long  ago ; 
Taken  back  the  heart  you  gave  me,  — 
I  must  even  let  it  go. 
Where  Love  once  has  breathed,  Pride  dieth  : 

So  I  struggled,  but  in  vain, 
First  to  keep  the  links  together, 
Then  to  piece  the  broken  chain. 

But  it  might  not  be  —  so  freely 
All  your  friendship  I  restore, 


Iia  FIDELI3. 

And  the  heart  that  I  had  taken 

As  my  own  for  evermore. 
No  shade  of  reproach  shall  touch  you, 

Dread  no  more  a  claim  from  me : 
But  I  will  not  have  you  fancy 

That  I  count  myself  as  free. 

I  am  bound  by  the  old  promise ; 

What  can  break  that  golden  chain  ? 
Not  even  the  words  that  you  have  spoken, 

Or  the  sharpness  of  my  pain  : 
Do  you  think,  because  you  fail  me 

And  draw  back  your  hand  to-day, 
That  from  out  the  heart  I  gave  you 

My  strong  love  can  fade  away  ? 

It  will  live.     No  eyes  may  see  it ; 

In  my  soul  it  will  lie  deep, 
Hidden  from  all ;  but  I  shall  feel  it 

Often  stirring  in  its  sleep. 
So  remember,  that  the  friendship, 

Which  you  now  think  poor  and  vain, 
Will  endure  in  hope  and  patience, 

Till  you  ask  for  it  again. 

Perhaps  in  some  long  twilight  hour, 

Like  those  we  have  known  of  old, 
When  past  shadows  gather  round  you, 

And  your  present  friends  grow  cold, 
You  may  stretch  your  hands  out  towards  me,  ■ 

Ah  !  you  will  —  I  know  not  when  — 
I  shall  nurse  my  love  and  keep  it 

Faithfully,  for  you,  till  then. 


A   SHADOW.  113 


A    SHADOW. 


HAT  lack  the  valleys  and  mountains 
That  once  were  green  and  gay  ? 
"What  lack  the  babbling  fountains  1 
Their  voice  is  sad  to-day. 
Only  the  sound  of  a  voice, 
Tender  and  sweet  and  low, 
That  made  the  earth  rejoice, 
A  year  ago ! 


What  lack  the  tender  flowers  ? 

A  shadow  is  on  the  sun: 
What  lack  the  merry  hours, 

That  I  long  that  they  were  done  ! 
Only  two  smiling  eyes, 
That  told  of  joy  and  mirth; 
They  are  shining  in  the  skies, 
I  mourn  on  earth  ! 

What  lacks  my  heart,  that  makes  it 

So  weary  and  full  of  pain, 
That  trembling  Hope  forsakes  it, 
Never  to  come  again  ? 
Only  another  heart, 
Tender  and  all  mine  own, 
in  the  still  grwe  it  lies; 
I  "ft'ecp  alrrc  1 


ii4  THE  SAILOR  BOY. 

THE    SAILOR  BOY. 


Full  soon  my  little  Life  is  told ; 
It  lias  had  no  great  joy  or  woe, 
For  I  am  only  twelve  years  old. 

Erelong  I  hope  I  shall  have  been 

On  my  first  voyage,  and  wonders  seen. 

Some  princess  I  may  help  to  free 

From  pirates  on  a  far-off  sea ; 

Or,  on  some  desert  isle  be  left, 

Of  friends  and  shipmates  all  bereft. 

For  the  first  time  I  venture  forth 
From  our  blue  mountains  of  the  north. 
My  kinsman  kept  the  lodge  that  stood 
Guarding  the  entrance  near  the  wood, 
By  the  stone  gateway  gray  and  old, 
With  quaint  devices  carved  about, 
And  broken  shields ;  while  dragons  bold 
Glared  on  the  common  world  without ; 
And  the  long  trembling  ivy  spray 
Half  hid  the  centuries'  decay. 
In  solitude  and  silence  grand 
The  castle  towered  above  the  land : 
The  castle  of  the  Earl,  whose  name 
(Wrapped  in  old  bloody  legends)  came 
Down  through  the  times  when  Truth  and  Right 
Bent  down  to  armed  Pride  and  Might. 
He  owned  the  country  far  and  near ; 
And,  for  some  weeks  in  every  year, 
(When  the  brown  leaves  were  falling  fast 


TI1E  SAILOR  BOY.  115 

And  the  long,  lingering  antumn  past,) 
He  would  come  down  to  hunt  the  deer, 
With  hound  and  horse  in  splendid  pride. 
The  story  lasts  the  live-long  year, 
The  peasant's  winter  evening  fills, 
"When  he  is  gone  and  they  abide 
In  the  lone  quiet  of  their  hills. 

I  longed,  too,  for  the  happy  night, 
When,  all  with  torches  flaring  1 'right, 
The  crowding  villagers  would  stand, 
A  patient,  eager,  waiting  band, 
Until  the  signal  ran  like  flame, 
«  They  come  !  "  and,  slackening  speed,  they  came. 
Outriders  first,  in  pomp  and  state, 
Pranced  on  their  horses  through  the  gate ; 
Then  the  four  steeds  as  black  as  night, 
All  decked  with  trappings  blue  and  white, 
Drew  through  the  crowd  that  opened  wide, 
The  Earl  and  Countess  side  by  side. 
The  stern  grave  Earl,  with  formal  smile 
And  glistening  eyes  and  stately  pride, 
Could  ne'er  my  childish  gaze  beguile 
From  the  fair  presence  by  his  side. 
The  lady's  soft  sad  glance,  her  eyes, 
(Like  stars  that  shone  in  summer  skies,) 
Her  pure  white  face  so  calmly  bent, 
With  gentle  greetings  round  her  sent ; 
Her  look,  that  always  seemed  to  gaze 
Where  the  blue  past  had  closed  again 
Over  some  happy  shipwrecked  days, 
With  all  their  freight  of  love  and  pain : 
She  did  not  even  seem  to  see 
The  little  lord  upon  her  knee. 


n6  THE  SAILOR  BOY. 

And  yet  he  was  like  angel  fair, 
With  rosy  cheeks  and  golden  hair, 
That  fell  on  shoulders  white  as  snow : 
But  the  blue  eyes  that  shone  below 
His  clustering  rings  of  auburn  curls 
Were  not  his  mother's,  but  the  Earl's. 

I  feared  the  Earl,  sc  sold  and  grim, 
I  never  dared  be  seen  by  him. 
When  through  our  gate  he  used  to  ride, 
My  kinsman  Walter  bade  me  hide ; 
He  said  he  was  so  stern. 
So,  when  the  hunt  came  past  our  way, 
I  always  hastened  to  obey, 
Until  I  heard  the  bugles  play 
The  notes  of  their  return. 
But  she  —  my  very  heart-strings  stir 
Whene'er  I  speak  or  think  of  her  — 
The  whole  wide  world  could  never  see 
A  noble  lady  such  as  she, 
So  full  of  angel  charity. 

Strange  things  of  her  our  neighbors  told 
In  the  long  winter  evenings  cold, 
Around  the  fire.     They  would  draw  near 
And  speak  half-whispering,  as  in  fear ; 
As  if  they  thought  the  Earl  could  hear 
Their  treason  'gainst  his  name. 
They  thought  the  story  that  his  pride 
Had  stooped  to  wed  a  low-born  bride, 
A  stain  upon  his  fame. 
Some  said  't  was  false  ;   there  could  not  be 
Such  blot  on  his  nobility  : 
But  others  vowed  that  they  had  heard 


TIIE  SAIL  OR  BOY.  n7 

The  actual  story  word  for  word, 
From  one  who  well  my  lady  knew, 
And  had  declared  the  story  true. 

In  a  far  Tillage,  little  known, 
She  dwelt  —  so  ran  the  talc  —  alone. 
A  widowed  bride,  yet,  oh  !  so  bright, 
Shone  through  the  mist  of  grief,  her  charms; 
They  said  it  was  the  loveliest  sight  — 
She  with  her  baby  in  her  arms. 
The  Earl,  one  summer  morning,  rode 
By  the  sea-shore  where  she  abode ; 
Again  he  came  —  that  vision  sweet 
Drew  him  reluctant  to  her  feet. 
Fierce  must  the  straggle  in  his  heart 
Have  been,  between  his  love  and  pride, 
Until  he  chose  that  wondrous  part, 
To  ask  her  to  become  his  bride. 
Yet,  ere  his  noble  name  she  bore, 
He  made  her  vow  that  nevermore 
She  would  behold  her  child  again, 
But  hide  his  name  and  hers  from  men. 
The  trembling  promise  duly  spoken, 
All  links  of  the  low  past  were  broken  ; 
And  she  arose  to  take  her  stand 
Amid  the  nobles  of  the  land. 
Then  all  would  wonder  —  could  it  be 
That  one  so  lowly  born  as  she, 
Raised  to  such  height  of  bliss,  should  seem 
Still  living  in  some  weary  dream  ? 
'T  is  true  she  bore  with  calmest  grace 
The  honors  of  her  lofty  place, 
Yet  never  smiled,  in  peace  or  joy, 
Not  even  to  greet  her  princely  boy- 


n8  THE  SAILOR  BOY. 

She  heard,  with  face  of  white  despair, 
The  cannon  thunder  through  the  air, 
That  she  had  given  the  Earl  an  heir. 
Nay,  even  more,  (they  whispered  low, 
As  if  they  scarce  durst  fancy  so,) 
That,  through  her  lofty  wedded  life, 
No  word,  no  tone,  betrayed  the  wife. 
Her  look  seemed  ever  in  the  past ; 
Never  to  him  it  grew  more  sweet ; 
The  self-same  weary  glance  she  cast 
Upon  the  greyhound  at  her  feet, 
As  upon  him,  who  bade  her  claim 
The  crowning  honor  of  his  name. 

This  gossip,  if  old  Walter  heard, 
He  checked  it  with  a  scornful  word: 
I  never  durst  such  tales  repeat ; 
He  was  too  serious  and  discreet 
To  speak  of  what  his  lord  might  do ; 
Besides,  he  loved  my  lady  too. 
And  many  a  time,  I  recollect, 
They  were  together  in  the  wood ; 
He,  with  an  air  of  grave  respect, 
And  earnest  look,  uncovered  stood. 
And  though  their  speech  I  never  heard, 
(Save  now  and  then  a  louder  word,) 
I  saw  he  spake  as  none  but  one 
She  loved  and  trusted  durst  have  done ; 
For  oft  I  watched  them  in  the  shade 
That  the  close  forest  branches  made, 
Till  slanting  golden  sunbeams  came 
And  smote  the  fir-trees  into  flame, 
A  radiant  glory  round  her  lit, 
Then  down  her  white  robes  seemed  to  flit, 


THE  SAILOR  BOY.  119 

Gilding  the  brown  leaves  on  the  ground, 
And  all  the  waving  ferns  around. 
While  by  some  gloomy  pine  she  leant 
And  he  in  earnest  talk  would  stand, 
I  saw  the  tear-drops,  as  she  bent, 
Fall  on  the  flowers  in  her  hand. — 
Strange  as  it  seemed  and  seems  to  be, 
That  one  so  sad,  so  cold  as  she, 
Could  love  a  little  child  like  me, 
Yet  so  it  was.      I  never  heard 
Such  tender  words  as  she  would  say, 
And  murmurs,  sweeter  than  a  word, 
Would  breathe  upon  me  as  I  lay. 
While  I,  in  smiling  joy,  would  rest, 
For  hours,  my  head  upon  her  breast. 
Our  neighbors  said  that  none  could  sea 
In  me  the  common  childish  charms, 
(So  grave  and  still  I  used  to  be,) 
And  yet  she  held  me  in  her  arms, 
In  a  fond  clasp,  so  close,  so  tight, 
I  often  dream  of  it  at  night 
She  bade  me  tell  her  all,  —  no  other 
Mv  childish  thoughts  e'er  cared  to  know: 
For  I  —  I  never  knew  my  mother  ; 
I  was  an  orphan  long  ago. 
And  I  could  all  my  fancies  pour, 
That  gentle,  loving  face  before. 
She  liked  to  hear  me  tell  her  all ; 
How  that  day  I  had  climbed  the  tree, 
To  make  the  largest  fir-cones  fall ; 
And  how  one  day  I  hoped  to  be 
A  sailor  on  the  deep  blue  sea,  — 
She  loved  to  hear  it  all ! 


rao  THE  SAILOR  BOY. 

Then  wondrous  things  she  used  to  tell, 
Of  the  strange  dreams  that  she  had  known. 
I  used  to  love  to  hear  them  well, 
If  only  for  her  sweet  low  tone, 
Sometimes  so  sad,  although  I  knew 
That  such  tilings  never  could  he  true. 
One  day  she  told  me  such  a  tale 
It  made  me  grow  all  cold  and  pale, 
The  fearful  tiling  she  told  ! 
Of  a  poor  woman  mad  and  wild 
Who  coined  the  life-blood  of  her  child, 
And,  tempted  by  a  fiend,  had  sold 
The  heart  out  of  her  breast  for  gold. 
But  when  she  saw  me  frightened  seem, 
She  smiled,  and  said  it  was  a  dream. 
When  I  look  back  and  think  of  her, 
My  very  heart-strings  seem  to  stir  ; 
How  kind,  how  fair  she  was,  how  good, 
I  cannot  tell  you.     If  I  could, 
You,  too,  would  love  her.     The  mere  thought 
Of  her  great  love  for  me  has  brought 
Tears  in  my  eyes  :  though  far  away, 
It  seems  as  it  were  yesterday. 
And  just  as  when  I  look  on  high, 
Through  the  blue  silence  of  the  sky, 
Fresh  stars  shine  out,  and  more  and  more, 
Where  I  could  sec  so  few  before ; 
So,  the  more  steadily  I  gaze 
Upon  those  far-off  misty  days, 
Fresh  words,  fresh  tones,  fresh  memories  start 
Before'  my  eves  and  in  my  heart. 
I  can  remember  how  one  day 
(Talking  in  silly  childish  way) 
I  said  how  happy  I  should  be 


THE  SAILOR  BO 7.  iii 

If  I  were  like  her  son,  — as  fair, 
With  just  such  bright  blue  eyes  as  he, 
And  such  long  locks  of  golden  hair. 
A  strange  smile  on  her  pale  face  broke, 
And  in  strange,  solemn  words  she  spoke : 
"  My  own,  my  darling  one,  —  no,  no  ! 
I  love  you,  far,  far  better  so. 
I  would  not  change  the  look  you  bear, 
Or  one  wave  of  your  dark  brown  hair. 
The  mere  glance  of  your  sunny  eyes, 
Deep  in  my  deepest  soul  I  prize 
Above  that  baby  fair  ! 
Not  one  of  all  the  Earl's  proud  line 
In  beauty  ever  matched  with  thine  ; 
And,  't  is  by  thy  dark  locks  thou  art 
Bound  even  faster  round  my  heart, 
And  made  more  wholly  mine  !  " 
And  then  she  paused,  and  weeping  said, 
"  You  arc  like  one  who  now  is  dead,  — 
Who  sleeps  in  a  far-distant  grave. 
O,  may  God  grant  that  you  may  be 
As  noble  and  as  good  as  he, 
As  gentle  and  as  brave  !  " 
Then  in  my  childish  way  I  cried, 
"  The  one  you  tell  me  of  who  died, 
Was  he  as  noble  as  the  Earl  ?  " 
I  see  her  red  lips  scornful  curl, 
I  feel  her  hold  my  hand  again, 
So  tightly,  that  I  shrink  in  pain,  — 
I  seem  to  hear  her  say, 
"  He  whom  I  tell  you  of,  who  died, 
He  was  so  noble  and  so  gay, 
So  generous  and  so  brave, 
That  the  proud  Earl  by  his  dear  side 


122  THE  SAILOR  BOY. 

"Would  look  a  craven  slave." 

She  paused  ;  then,  with  a  quivering  sigh, 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  my  brow  : 

"  Live  like  him,  darling,  and  so  die. 

Remember  that  he  tells  you  now, 

True  peace,  real  honor,  and  content, 

In  cheerful,  pious  toil  abide  ; 

That  gold  and  splendor  arc  but  sent 

To  curse  our  vanity  and  pride." 

One  day  some  childish  fever  pain 
Burnt  in  my  veins  and  fired  my  brain. 
Moaning,  I  turned  from  side  to  side ; 
And,  sobbing  in  my  bed,  I  cried, 
Till  night  in  calm  and  darkness  crept 
Around  me,  and  at  last  I  slept. 
When  suddenly  I  woke  to  see 
The  Lady  bending  over  me. 
The  drops  of  cold  November  rain 
Were  falling  from  her  long,  damp  hair ; 
Her  anxious  eyes  were  dim  with  pain ; 
Yet  she  looked  wondrous  fair. 
Arrayed  for  some  great  feast  she  came, 
With  stones  that  shone  and  burnt  like  flame ; 
Wound  round  her  neck,  like  some  bright  snake, 
And  set  like  stars  within  her  hair, 
They  sparkled  so,  they  seemed  to  make 
A  glory  everywhere. 
I  felt  her  tears  upon  my  face, 
Her  kisses  on  my  eyes  ; 
And  a  strange  thought  I  could  not  trace 
I  felt  within  my  heart  arise  ; 
And,  half  in  feverish  pain,  I  said  : 
"  O  if  my  mother  were  not  dead  1 " 


THE  SAILOR  BOY.  123 

And  "Walter  bade  me  sleep  ;  but  she 

Said,  "  Is  it  not  the  same  to  thee 

That  /  watch  by  thy  bed  1 " 

I  answered  her,  "  I  love  you,  too; 

But  it  can  never  be  the  same ; 

She  was  no  Countess  like  to  you, 

Nor  wore  such  sparkling  stones  of  flame." 

0  the  wild  look  of  fear  and  dread  ! 
The  cry  she  gave  of  bitter  woe  ! 

1  often  wonder  what  I  said 

To  make  her  moan  and  shudder  so. 
Through  the  long  night  she  tended  me 
With  such  sweet  care  and  charity. 
But  I  should  weary  you  to  toll 
All  that  I  know  and  love  so  well : 
Yet  one  night  more  stands  out  alone 
With  a  sad  sweetness  all  its  own. 

The  wind  blew  loud  that  dreary  night : 
Its  wailing  voice  I  well  remember ; 
The  stars  shone  out  so  large  and  bright 
Upon  the  frosty  fir-boughs  white, 
That  dreary  night  of  cold  December. 
I  saw  old  Walter  silent  stand, 
Watching  the  soft,  white  flakes  of  snow 
With  looks  I  could  not  understand, 
Of  strange  perplexity  and  woe. 
At  last  he  turned  and  took  my  hand, 
And  said  the  Countess  just  had  sent 
To  bid  us  come ;  for  she  would  fain 
See  mc  once  more,  before  she  went 
Away  —  never  to  come  again. 
We  came  in  silence  through  the  wood 
(Our  footfall  was  the  only  sound) 


I24  THE  SAILOR  BO 7. 

To  where  the  great  white  castle  stood, 

"With  darkness  shadowing  it  around. 

Breathless,  we  trod  with  cautious  care 

Up  the  great  echoing  marhle  stair ; 

Trembling,  by  Walter's  hand  I  held, 

Scared  by  the  splendors  I  beheld  : 

Now  thinking,  "  Should  the  Earl  appear!" 

Now  looking  up  with  giddy  fear 

To  the  dim,  vaulted  roof  that  spread 

Its  gloomy  arches  overhead. 

Long  corridors  we  softly  passed, 

(My  heart  was  beating  loud  and  fast,) 

And  reached  the  Lady's  room  at  last : 

A  strange,  faint  odor  seemed  to  weigh 

Upon  the  dim  and  darkened  air  ; 

One  shaded  lamp,  with  softened  ray, 

Scarce  showed  the  gloomy  splendor  there. 

The  dull  red  brands  were  burning  low, 

And  yet  a  fitful  gleam  of  light 

Would  now  and  then,  with  sudden  glow, 

Start  forth,  then  sink  again  in  night. 

I  gazed  around,  yet  half  in  fear, 

Till  Walter  told  me  to  draw  near : 

And  in  the  strange  and  flickering  light, 

Towards  the  Lady's  bed  I  crept ; 

All  folded  round  with  snowy  white, 

She  lay ;   (one  would  have  said  she  slept ;) 

So  still  the  look  of  that  white  face, 

It  seemed  as  it  were  carved  in  stone, 

I  paused  before  I  dared  to  place 

Within  her  cold  white  hand  my  own. 

But,  with  a  smile  of  sweet  surprise, 

She  turned  to  me  her  dreamy  eyes ; 

And  slowly,  as  if  life  were  pain, 


THE  SAILOR  BOY.  125 

She  drew  mc  in  her  arms  to  lie  : 

She  strove  to  speak,  and  strove  in  vain ; 

Eacli  breath  was  like  a  long-drawn  sigh. 

The  throbs  that  seemed  to  shake  her  breast, 

The  trembling  clasp,  so  loose  and  weak, 

At  last  grew  calmer,  and  at  rest ; 

And  then  she  strove  once  more  to  speak : 

"  My  God,  I  thank  thee,  that  my  pain 

Of  day  by  day,  and  year  by  year, 

Has  not  been  suffered  all  in  vain, 

And  I  may  die  while  he  is  near. 

I  will  not  fear  but  that  Thy  graco 

Has  swept  away  my  sin  and  woe, 

And  sent  this  little  angel  face, 

In  my  last  hour,  to  tell  me  so." 

(And  here  her  voice  grew  faint  and  low,) 

"  My  child,  where'er  thy  life  may  go, 

To  know  that  thou  art  brave  and  true, 

Will  pierce  the  highest  heavens  through, 

And  even  there  my  soul  shall  be 

More  joyful  for  this  thought  of  thee." 

She  folded  her  white  hands,  and  stayed; 

All  cold  and  silently  she  lay  : 

I  knelt  beside  the  bed,  and  prayed 

The  prayer  she  used  to  make  mc  say. 

I  said  it  many  times,  and  then 

She  did  not  move,  but  seemed  to  be 

In  a  deep  sleep,  nor  stirred  again. 

No  sound  woke  in  the  silent  room, 

Or  broke  the  dim  and  solemn  gloom, 

Save  when  the  brands  that  burnt  so  low, 

With  noisy,  fitful  gleam  of  light, 

Would  spread  around  a  sudden  glow, 

Then  sink  in  silence  and  in  night. 


126  THE  SAILOR  BOY. 

How  long  I  stood  I  do  not  know  : 
At  last  poor  Walter  came,  and  said 
(So  sadly)  that  we  now  must  go, 
And  whispered,  she  we  loved  was  dead. 
He  bade  me  kiss  her  face  once  mor<3, 
Then  led  me  sobbing  to  the  door. 
1  scarcely  knew  what  dying  meant, 
Yet  a  strange  grief,  before  unknown, 
Weighed  on  my  spirit  as  we  went 
And  left  her  lying  all  alone. 

We  went  to  the  far  North  once  mor», 
To  seek  the  well-remembered  home 
Where  my  poor  kinsman  dwelt  before, 
Whence  now  he  was  too  old  to  roam ; 
And  there  six  happy  years  we  past, 
Happy  and  peaceful  till  the  last ; 
When  poor  old  Walter  died,  and  he 
Blessed  me  and  said  I  now  might  bo 
A  sailor  on  the  deep  blue  sea. 
And  so  I  go  ;  and  yet  in  spite 
Of  all  the  joys  I  long  to  know, 
Though  I  look  onward  with  delight, 
With  something  of  regret  I  go ; 
And  young  or  old,  on  land  or  sea, 
One  guiding  memory  I  shall  take, — 
Of  what  She  prayed  that  I  might  be, 
And  what  I  will  be  for  her  sake  1 


TIIE  LESSON   OF   TIIE   WAR. 


127 


A   CROWN   OF    SORROW. 


SORROW,  wet  with  early  tears 
Yet  hitter,  had  been  long  with  me; 

I  wearied  of  this  weight  of  years, 
And  would  be  free. 


I  tore  my  Sorrow  from  my  heart, 

I  east  it  far  away  in  scorn  ; 
Right  joyful  that  we  two  could  part, 
Yet  most  forlorn. 

I  sought,  (to  take  my  Sorrow's  place,) 

Over  the  world  for  flower  or  gem ; 
But  she  had  had  an  ancient  grace 
Unknown  to  them. 

I  took  once  more  with  strange  delight 
My  slighted  Sorrow  ;   proudly  now 
I  wear  it,  set  with  stars  of  light, 
Upon  my  brow. 


THE   LESSON   OF   TIIE   WAR. 


1855. 


HE  feast  is  spread  through  England 
For  rich  and  poor  to-day ; 
Greetings  and  laughter  may  be  there, 
But  thoughts  are  far  away ; 


128  THE  LESSON  OF   THE  WAR. 

Over  the  stormy  ocean, 

Over  the  dreary  track, 
"Where  some  arc  gone,  whom  England 

Will  never  welcome  back. 

Breathless  she  waits,  and  listens 

For  every  eastern  breeze 
That  bears  upon  its  bloody  wings 

News  from  beyond  the  seas. 
The  leafless  branches  stirring 

Make  many  a  watcher  start ; 
The  distant  tramp  of  steed  may  send 

A  throb  from  heart  to  heart. 

The  rulers  of  the  nation, 

The  poor  ones  at  their  gate, 
With  the  same  eager  wonder 

The  same  great  news  await. 
The  poor  man's  stay  and  comfort, 

The  rich  man's  joy  and  pride, 
Upon  the  bleak  Crimean  shore 

Are  fighting  side  by  side. 

The  bullet  comes  —  and  either 

A  desolate  hearth  may  sec ; 
And  God  alone  to-night  knows  whero 

The  vacant  place  may  be  ! 
The  dread  that  stirs  the  peasant 

Thrills  nobles'  hearts  with  fear ; 
Yet  above  selfish  sorrow 

Both  hold  their  country  dear. 

The  rich  man  who  reposes 
In  his  ancestral  shade, 


THE  LESSON   OF   THE  WAR.  129 

The  peasant  at  his  ploughshare, 

The  worker  at  his  trade, 
Each  one  his  all  has  perilled, 

Each  has  the  same  great  stake, 
Each  soul  can  but  have  patience, 

Each  heart  can  only  break  ! 

Hushed  is  all  party  clamor ; 

One  thought  in  every  heart, 
One  dread  in  every  household, 

Has  bid  such  strife  depart. 
England  has  called  her  children  ; 

Long  silent  —  the  word  came 
That  lit  the  smouldering  ashes 

Through  all  the  laud  to  flams. 

O  you  who  toil  and  suffer, 

You  gladly  heard  the  call ; 
But  those  you  sometimes  envy 

Have  they  not  given  their  all  1 
O  you  who  rule  the  nation, 

Take  now  the  toil-worn  hand : 
Brothers  you  arc  in  sorrow, 

In  duty  to  your  land. 
Learn  but  this  noble  lesson 

Ere  Peace  returns  again, 
And  the  life-blood  of  Old  England 

Will  not  be  shed  in  vain. 


i3o  THE  TWO  SPIRITS. 

THE    TWO    SPIRITS. 

1855. 

]AST  night,  when  weary  silence  fell  on  all, 
And  starless  skies  arose  so  dim  and 
vast, 
I  heard  the  Spirit  of  the  Present  call 
Upon  the  sleeping  Spirit  of  the  Past. 
Far  off  and  near,  I  saw  their  radiance  shine, 
And  listened  while  they  spoke  of  deeds  divine. 

The  Spirit  of  the  Past. 

My  deeds  are  writ  in  iron ; 

My  glory  stands  alone ; 
A  veil  of  shadowy  honor 

Upon  my  tombs  is  thrown ; 
The  great  names  of  my  heroes 

Like  gems  in  history  he  ; 
To  live  they  deemed  ignoble, 

Had  they  the  chance  to  die  1 

The  Spirit  of  the  Present. 

My  children,  too,  are  honored ; 

Dear  shall  their  memory  be 
To  the  proud  lands  that  own  them ; 

Dearer  than  thine  to  thee ; 
For,  though  they  hold  that  sacred 
Is  God's  great  gift  of  life, 

At  the  first  call  of  duty 

They  rush  into  the  strife ! 


TUE  T  WO  SPIRITS.  1 3 1 

The  Spirit  of  the  Past. 
Then,  with  all  valiant  precepts 

Woman's  soft  heart  was  fraught ; 
«  Death,  not  dishonor,"  echoed 

The  war-cry  she  had  taught. 
Fearless  aid  glad,  those  mothers, 

At  bloody  deaths  elate, 
Cried  out  they  bore  their  children 

Only  for  such  a  fate  ! 

Tiie  Spirit  of  the  Present. 
Though  such  stern  laws  of  honor 

Arc  faded  now  away, 
Yet  many  a  mourning  mother, 

With  nobler  grief  than  they, 
Bows  down  in  sad  submission: 

The  heroes  of  the  fight 
Learnt  at  her  knee  the  lesson, 

«  For  God  and  for  the  Right  1 " 

The  Spirit  of  the  Past. 

No  voice  there  spake  of  sorrow : 

They  saw  the  noblest  fall 
With  no  repining  murmur  ; 

Stern  Fate  was  lord  of  all. 
And  when  the  loved  ones  perished, 

One  cry  alone  arose, 
Waking  the  startled  echoes, 

"  Vengeance  upon  our  foes  !  " 

The  Spirit  of  the  Present. 
Grief  dwells  in  France  and  England 
For  many  a  noble  son ; 


*3* 


THE  TWO   SPIRITS. 

Yet  louder  than  the  sorrow, 
«  Thy  will,  0  God,  be  done  !  " 

From  desolate  homes  is  rising 

One  prayer,  —  "  Let  carnage  cease ! 

On  friends  and  foes  have  mercy, 
0  Lord,  and  give  us  peace  ! " 

TJte  Spirit  of  the  Past. 

Then,  every  hearth  was  honored 

That  sent  its  children  forth, 
To  spread  their  country's  glory, 

And  gain  her  south  or  north. 
Then,  little  recked  they  numbers, 

No  band  would  ever  fly, 
But  stern  and  resolute  they  stood 

To  conquer  or  to  die. 

The  Spirit  of  the  Present. 

And  now  from  France  and  England 

Their  dearest  and  their  best 
Go  forth  to  succor  freedom, 

To  help  the  much  oppressed; 
Now,  let  the  far-off  Future 

And  Past  bow  down  to-day, 
Before  the  few  young  hearts  that  hold 

Whole  armaments  at  bay. 

Tlie  Spirit  of  the  Past. 

Then,  each  one  strove  for  honor, 
Each  for  a  deathless  name ; 

Love,  home,  rest,  joy,  were  offered 
As  sacrifice  to  Fame. 


A  LITTLE  LONGER.  133 

They  longed  that  in  far  ages 
Their  deeds  might  still  he  told, 

And  distant  times  and  nations 
Their  names  in  honor  hold. 

The  Spirit  of  tlte  Present. 
Though  nursed  by  such  old  legends, 

Our  heroes  of  to-day 
Go  cheerfully  to  battle 

As  children  go  to  play  , 
They  gaze  with  awe  and  wonder 

On  your  great  names  of  pride, 
Unconscious  that  their  own  will  shine 

In  glory  side  by  side  ! 

Day  dawned ;  and  as  the  Spirits  passed  away, 
Methought  I  saw,  in  the  dim  morning  gray, 
The  Past's  bright  diadem  had  paled  before 
The  starry  crown  the  glorious  Present  wore. 


A  LITTLE   LONGER. 

LITTLE  longer  yet— a  little  longer, 
Shall  violets  bloom  for  thee,  and  sweet 

birds  sing; 
And  the  lime-branches,  where  soft  winds 
arc  blowing, 
Shall  murmur  the  sweet  promise  of  the  Spring  1 

A  little  longer  yet  —  a  little  longer, 
Thou  shalt  behold  the  quiet  of  the  morn ; 


i34  A  LITTLE  LONGER. 

While  tender  grasses  and  awakening  flowers 
Bend  up  a  golden  mist  to  greet  the  dawn ! 

A  little  longer  yet  —  a  little  longer, 
The  tenderness  of  twilight  shall  be  thine, 
The  rosy  clouds  that  float  o'er  dying  daylight, 
Nor  fade  till  trembling  stars  begin  to  shine. 

A  little  longer  yet  —  a  little  longer, 

Shall  starry  night  be  beautiful  for  thee ; 

And  the  cold  moon  shall   look  through  the  blue 

silence, 
Flooding  her  silver  path  upon  the  sea. 

A  little  longer  yet  —  a  little  longer, 
Life  shall  be  thine  ;  life  with  its  power  to  will ; 
Life  with  its  strength  to  bear,  to  love,  to  conquer. 
Bringing  its  thousand  joys  thy  heart  to  fill. 

A  little  longer  yet  —  a  little  longer, 

The  voices  thou  hast  loved  shall  charm  thine  ear ; 

And  thy  true  heart,  that  now  beats  quick  to  hear 

them, 
A  little  longer  yet  shall  hold  them  dear. 

A  little  longer  yet  — joy  while  thou  mayest ; 
Love  and  rejoice  !  for  time  has  naught  in  store  : 
And  soon  the  darkness  of  the  grave  shall  bid  thee 
Love  and  rejoice  and  feel  and  know  no  more. 


A  little  longer  still — Patience,  Beloved; 
A  little  longer  still,  ere  Heaven  unroll 


GRIEF.  135 

The  Glory,  and  the  Brightness,  and  the  "Wonder, 
Eternal,  and  divine,  that  waits  thy  Soul ! 

A  little  longer  ere  Life  true,  immortal, 

(Not  this  our  shadowy  Life,)  will  he  thine  own; 

And  thou    shalt    stand  where  winged  Archangels 

worship, 
And  trembling  bow  before  the  Great  White  Throne 

A  little  longer  still,  and  Heaven  awaits  thee, 
And  fills  thy  spirit  with  a  great  delight ; 
Then  our  pale  joys  will  seem  a  dream  forgotten, 
Our  Sun  a  darkness,  and  our  Day  a  Night. 

A  little  longer,  and  thy  Heart,  Beloved, 

Shall  beat  forever  with  a  Love  divine; 

And  joy  so  pure,  so  mighty,  so  eternal, 

No  creature  knows  and  lives,  will  then  be  thine0 

A  little  longer  yet  —  and  angel  voices 
Shall  ring  in  heavenly  chant  upon  thine  ear ; 
Angels  and  Saints  await  thee,  and  God  needs  thee : 
Beloved,  can  we  bid  thee  linger  here ! 


GETEF. 

N  ancient  enemy  have  T, 
And  either  he  or  I  must  die; 
For  he  never  leaveth  me, 
Never  gives  my  soul  relief, 
Never  lets  my  sorrow  cease, 
Never  gives  my  spirit  peace,  — 
For  mine  enemy  is  Grief! 


136  GRIEF. 

Pale  he  is,  and  sad  and  stern  ; 
And  whene'er  he  cometh  nigh, 
Blue  and  dim  the  torches  burn, 
Pale  and  shrunk  the  roses  turn ; 
While  my  heart  that  he  has  pierced 
Many  a  time  with  fiery  lance, 
Beats  and  trembles  at  his  glance  : 
Clad  in  burning  steel  is  he, 
All  my  strength  he  can  defy; 
For  he  never  leaveth  me  — 
And  one  of  us  must  die ! 


I  have  said,  "  Let  ancient  sages 
Charm  me  from  my  thoughts  of  pain  !  " 
So  I  read  their  deepest  pages, 
And  I  strove  to  think  —  in  vain ! 
Wisdom's  cold,  calm  words  I  tried, 
But  he  was  seated  by  my  side  :  — 
Learning  I  have  won  in  vain ; 
She  cannot  rid  me  of  my  pain. 

When  at  last  soft  sleep  comes  o'er  me, 
A  cold  hand  is  on  my  heart ; 
Stern  sad  eyes  are  there  before  me ; 
Not  in  dreams  will  he  depart : 
And  when  the  same  dreary  vision 
From  my  weary  brain  has  fled, 
Daylight  brings  the  living  phantom, 
He  is  seated  by  my  bed, 
Bending  o'er  me  all  the  while, 
With  his  cruel,  bitter  smile, 
Ever  with  me,  ever  nigh  ;  — 
And  either  he  or  I  must  die  1 


GRIEF.  13/ 

Then  I  said,  long  time  ago, 
"  I  will  flee  to  other  climes, 
I  will  leave  mine  ancient  foe !  " 
Though  I  wandered  far  and  wide  — 
Still  lie  followed  at  my  side. 

And  I  fled  where  the  blue  waters 
Bathe  the  sunny  isles  of  Greece  ; 
Where  Thessalian  mountains  rise 
Up  against  the  purple  skies ; 
Where  a  haunting  memory  liveth 
In  each  wood  and  cave  and  rill ; 
But  no  dream  of  gods  could  help  me,  — 
He  went  with  me  still ! 

I  have  been  where  Nile's  broad  river 
Flows  upon  the  burning  sand  ; 
Where  the  desert  monster  broodeth, 
Where  the  Eastern  palm-trees  stand  ; 
I  have  been  where  pathless  forests 
Spread  a  black  eternal  shade  ; 
Where  the  lurking  panther  hiding 
Glares  from  every  tangled  glade  ; 
But  in  vain  I  wandered  wide, 
He  was  always  by  my  side ! 

Then  I  fled  where  snows  eternal 
Cold  and  dreary  ever  lie  ; 
Where  the  rosy  lightnings  gleam, 
Flashing  through  the  northern  sky ; 
Where  the  red  sun  turns  again 
Back  upon  his  path  of  pain  ;  — 
But  a  shadowy  form  was  with  me,  — 
I  had  fled  in  vain  1 


138  GRIEF. 

I  have  thought,  "  If  I  can  gaze 
Sternly  on  him  he  will  fade, 
For  I  know  that  he  is  nothing 
But  a  dim  ideal  shade." 
As  I  gazed  at  him  the  more, 
He  grew  stronger  than  before  ! 

Then  I  said,  "  Mine  arm  is  strong, 
I  will  make  him  turn  and  flee  "  ; 
I  have  struggled  with  him  long  — 
But  that  could  never  be  ! 

Once  I  battled  with  him  so 
That  I  thought  I  laid  him  low; 
Then  in  trembling  joy  I  fled, 
While  again  and  still  again 
Murmuring  to  myself  I  said, 
"  Mine  old  enemy  is  dead  !  " 
And  I  stood  beneath  the  stars, 
When  a  chill  came  on  my  frame, 
And  a  fear  I  could  not  name, 
And  a  sense  of  quick  despair, 
And,  lo  !  —  mine  enemy  was  there ! 

Listen,  for  my  soul  is  weary, 
Weary  of  its  endless  woe  ; 
I  have  called  on  one  to  aid  me 
Mightier  even  than  my  foe 
Strength  and  hope  fail  day  by  day; 
I  shall  cheat  him  of  his  prey ; 
Some  day  soon,  I  know  not  when, 
He  will  stab  me  through  and  through; 
He  has  wounded  me  before, 
But  my  heart  can  bear  no  more ; 


TEE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME.  139 

Pray  that  hour  may  come  to  me, 
Only  then  shall  I  he  free; 
Death  alone  has  strength  to  take  me 
Where  my  foe  can  never  be ; 
Death,  and  Death  alone,  has  power 
To  conquer  mine  old  euemy ! 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME. 

^<§55ij|IIE  tender,  delicate  Flowers, 

I  saw  them  fanned  by  a  warm  western 

wind, 
Fed  by  soft  summer  showers, 

Shielded  by  care,  and  yet,  (0  Fate  unkind !) 
Fade  in  a  few  short  hours. 

The  gentle  and  the  gay, 
Rich  in  a  glorious  Future  of  bright  deeds, 

Rejoicing  in  the  day, 
Are  met  by  Death,  who  sternly,  sadly  leads 
Them  far  away. 

And  Hopes,  perfumed  and  bright, 
So  lately  shining,  wet  with  dew  and  tears, 

Trembling  in  morning  light ; 
I  saw  them  change  to  dark  and  anxious  fears 
Before  the  night ! 

I  wept  that  all  must  die : 
"Yet   Love,"    I  cried,   "doth  live,   and   conquer 
death  —  " 
And  Time  passed  by, 


1 4o  A  PARTING. 

And  breathed  on  Love,  and  killed  it  with  his  breath 
Ere  Death  was  nigh. 

More  bitter  far  than  all 
It  was  to  know  that  Love  could  change  and  die !  — 

Hush  !  for  the  ages  call, 
"  The  Love  of  God  lives  through  eternity, 
And  conquers  all  1 " 


A   PARTING. 

]ITHOUT  one  bitter  feeling  let  us  part,  — 
And  for  the  years  in  which  your  love 

has  shed 
A  radiance  like  a  glory  round  my  head, 
I  thank  you,  yes,  I  thank  you  from  my  heart. 

I  thank  you  for  the  cherished  hope  of  years, 
A  starry  future,  dim  and  yet  divine, 
Winging  its  way  from  Heaven  to  be  mine, 

Laden  with  joy,  and  ignorant  of  tears. 

I  thank  you,  yes,  I  thank  you  even  more 

That  my  heart  learnt  not  without  love  to  live, 
But  gave  and  gave,  and  still  had  more  to  give, 

From  an  abundant  and  exhaustless  store. 

I  thank  you,  and  no  grief  is  in  these  tears  ; 
I  thank  you,  not  in  bitterness  but  truth, 
For  the  fair  vision  that  adorned  my  youth 

And  glorified  so  many  happy  years. 


A  PARTING.  141 

Yet  how  much  more  I  thank  you  that  you  tore 
At  length  the  veil  your  hand  had  woven  away, 
Which  hid  my  idol  was  a  tiling  of  clay, 

And  false  the  altar  I  had  knelt  before. 

I  thank  you  that  you  taught  me  the  stern  truth, 
(None  other  could  have  told  and  I  believed,) 
That  vain  had  been  my  life,  and  I  deceived, 

And  wasted  all  the  purpose  of  my  youth. 

I  thank  you  that  your  hand  dashed  down  the  shrine, 
Wherein  my  idol  worship  I  had  paid ; 
Else  had  I  never  known  a  soul  was  made 

To  serve  and  worship  only  the.  Divine. 

I  thank  you  that  the  heart  I  cast  away 

On  such   as  you,   though   broken,  bruised,  and 

crushed, 
Now  that  its  fiery  throbbing  is  all  hushed, 

Upon  a  worthier  altar  I  can  lay. 

I  thank  you  for  the  lesson  that  such  lovo 
Is  a  perverting  of  God's  royal  right, 
That  it  is  made  but  for  the  Infinite, 

And  all  too  great  to  live  except  above. 

I  thank  you  for  a  terrible  awaking, 

And  if  reproach  seemed  hidden  in  my  pain, 
And  sorrow  seemed  to  cry  on  your  disdain, 

Know  that  my  blessing  lay  in  your  forsaking. 

Farewell  for  ever  now  :  —  in  peace  we  part ; 
And  should  an  idle  vision  of  my  tears 
Arise  before  your  soul  in  after  years, 

Remember  that  I  thank  you  from  my  heart  1 


1 4i  THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 


THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 


EM  shadows  gather   thickly  round,   and 
up  the  misty  stair  they  climb, 
The  cloudy  stair  that  upward  leads  to 
where  the  closed  portals  shine, 
Round  which  the  kneeling  spirits  wait  the  opening 
of  the  Golden  Gate. 

And  some  with  eager  longing  go,  still  pressing  for- 
ward, hand  in  hand, 

And  some,  with  weary  step  and  slow,  look  back 
where  their  Beloved  stand  : 

Yet  up  the  misty  stair  they  climb,  led  onward  by 
the  Angel  Time. 

As  unseen  hands  roll  back  the  doors,  the  light  that 

floods  the  very  air 
Is  but  the  shadow  from  within,  of  the  great  glory 

hidden  there : 
And  morn  and  eve,  and  soon  and  late,  the  shadows 

pass  within  the  gate. 

As  one  by  one  they  enter  in,  and  the  stern  portals 

close  once  more, 
The  halo  seems    to    linger  round   those  kneeling 

closest  to  the  door  : 
The  joy  that  lightened  from  that  place  shines  s'vill 

upon  the  watcher's  face. 

The  faint  low  echo  that  we  hear  of  far-off  music 
seems  to  fill 


PHANTOMS.  ,4J 

The  silent  air  with  love  and  fear,  and  the  world's 

clamors  all  prow  still, 
Until  the  portals  close  again,  and  leave  us  toiling 

on  in  pain. 

Complain  not  that  the  way  is  long,  —  what  road  is 

weary  that  leads  there  ? 
But  let  the  Angel  take  thy  hand,  and  lead  thee  up 

the  misty  stair, 
And  then  with  heating  heart  await  the  opening  of 

the  Golden  Gate. 


PHANTOMS. 

ACK,  ye  Phantoms  of  the  Past ; 
In  your  dreary  caves  remain  : 
What  have  I  to  do  with  memories 
Of  a  long-forgotten  pain  1 

For  my  Present  is  all  peaceful, 
And  my  Future  nobly  planned : 

Long  ago  Time's  mighty  hillows 
Swept  your  footsteps  from  the  sand. 

Back  into  your  caves  ;  nor  haunt  ma 
With  your  voices  full  of  woe  j 

I  have  huried  grief  and  sorrow 
In  the  depths  of  Long-ago. 

See  the  glorious  clouds  of  morning 
Roll  away,  and  clear  and  bright 


144  PHANTOMS. 

Shine  the  rays  of  cloudless  daylight :  — 
Wherefore  will  ye  moan  of  night  ? 

Never  shall  my  heart  be  burthened 
With  its  ancient  woe  and  fears  ; 

I  can  drive  them  from  my  presence, 
I  can  check  these  foolish  tears. 

Back,  ye  Phantoms  ;  leave,  O  leave  me, 

To  a  new  and  happy  lot ; 
Speak  no  more  of  things  departed ; 

Leave  me  —  for  I  know  ye  not. 

Can  it  be  that  'mid  my  gladness 
I  must  ever  hear  you  wail, 

Of  the  grief  that  wrung  my  spirit, 
And  that  made  my  cheek  so  pale  1 

Joy  is  mine ;  but  your  sad  voice3 
Murmur  ever  in  mine  ear  : 

"Vain  is  all  the  Future's  promise, 
While  the  dreary  Past  is  here. 

Vain,  0  worse  than  vain,  the  Visions 
That  my  heart,  my  life,  would  fill, 

If  the  Past's  relentless  phantoms 
Call  upon  me  still ! 


THANKFULNESS.  i4j 


THANKFULNESS. 

i|Y  God,  I  thank  Thee  who  hast  made 
The  Earth  so  bright ; 
So  full  of  splendor  and  of  joy, 
Beauty  and  light ; 
So  many  glorious  things  are  here, 
Noble  and  right ! 

I  thank  Thee,  too,  that  Thou  hast  made 

Joy  to  abound  ; 
So  many  gentle  thoughts  and  deeds 

Circling  us  round, 
That  in  the  darkest  spot  of  Earth 

Some  love  is  found. 

I  thank  Thee  more  that  all  our  joy 

Is  touched  with  pain  ; 
That  shadows  fall  on  brightest  hours ; 

That  thorns  remain  ; 
So  that  Earth's  bliss  may  be  our  guide, 

And  not  our  chain. 

For  Thou  who  knowest,  Lord,  how  soon 

Our  weak  heart  clings. 
Hast  given  us  joys,  tender  and  true, 

Yet  all  with  wings, 
So  that  we  see,  gleaming  on  lugh, 

Diviner  things  ! 

I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  that  Tho*  hast  kept 
The  best  in  store  ; 
to 


I46  HOMESICKNESS. 

We  have  enough,  yet  not  too  much 

To  long  for  more  : 
A  yearning  for  a  deeper  peace, 

Not  known  before. 

I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  that  here  our  soul% 

Though  amply  blest, 
Can  never  find,  although  they  seek, 

A  perfect  rest  — 
Nor  ever  shall,  until  they  lean 

On  Jesus'  breast ! 


HOME-SICKNESS. 


HERE  I  am,  the  halls  are  gilded, 

Stored  with  pictures  bright  and  rare; 
Strains  of  deep  melodious  music 
Float  upon  the  perfumed  air  :  — 
Nothing  stirs  the  dreary  silence 

Save  the  melancholy  sea, 
Near  the  poor  and  humble  cottage, 
Where  I  fain  would  be  ! 


Where  I  am,  the  sun  is  shining, 
And  the  purple  windows  glow, 

Till  their  rich  armorial  shadows 
Stain  the  marble  floor  below  :  — 

Faded  autumn  leaves  are  trembling 
On  the  withered  jasmine-tree, 

Creeping  round  the  little  casement, 
Where  I  fain  would  be  I 


noME-srcKxxss.  i47 

Where  I  am,  the  days  are  passing 
O'er  a  pathway  strewn  with  flowers; 

Sons  and  joy  and  starry  pleasures 
Crown  the  happy,  smiling  hours  :  — 

Slowly,  heavily,  and  sadly, 

Time  with  weary  wings  must  flee, 

Marked  by  pain,  and  toil,  and  sorrow, 
Where  I  fain  would  be  ! 

Where  I  am,  the  great  and  noble 

Tell  me  of  renown  and  fame, 
And  the  red  wine  sparkles  highest, 

To  do  honor  to  my  name  :  — 
Par  away  a  place  is  vacant, 

By  a  humble  hearth,  for  me, 
Dying  embers  dimly  show  it, 
Where  I  fain  would  be  ! 

Where  I  am  are  glorious  dreamings, 

Science,  genius,  art  divine  ; 
And  the  great  minds  whom  all  honor 

Interchange  their  thoughts  with  mine  :  — 
A  few  simple  hearts  are  waiting, 

Longing,  wearying,  for  me, 
Far  away  where  tears  are  falling, 
Where  I  fain  would  be  ! 

Where  I  am,  all  think  me  happy, 

For  so  well  I  play  my  part, 
None  can  guess,  who  smile  around  me, 

How  far  distant  is  my  heart, — 
Far  away,  in  a  poor  cottage, 

Listening  to  the  dreary  sea, 
Where  the  treasures  of  my  life  are, 
Where  I  fain  would  be  I 


x48  WISHES. 


WISHES. 

LL  the  fluttering  wishes 
Caged  within  thy  heart 
Beat  their  wings  against  it, 
ggjj]       Longing  to  depart, 
Till  they  shake  their  prison 
With  their  wounded  cry ; 
Open  wide  thy  heart  to-day, 
And  let  the  captives  fly. 

Let  them  first  fly  upward 

Through  the  starry  air, 
Till  you  almost  lose  them, 

For  their  home  is  there ; 
Then,  with  outspread  pinions, 

Circling  round  and  round, 
Wing  their  way  wherever 

Want  and  woe  are  found. 

Where  the  weary  stitcher 

Toils  for  daily  bread  ; 
Where  the  lonely  watcher 

Watches  by  her  dead  ; 
Where,  with  thin,  weak  fingers. 

Toiling  at  the  loom, 
Stand  the  little  children, 

Blighted  ere  they  bloom ;  — 

Where,  by  darkness  blinded, 

Groping  for  the  light, 
With  distorted  conscience, 

Men  do  wrong  for  right ; 


TIIE  PEACE  OF  GOD.  149 

"Where,  in  the  cold  shadow, 

By  smootli  pleasure  thrown, 
Human  hearts  by  hundreds 

Harden  into  stone ;  — 

Where  on  dusty  highways, 

With  faint  heart  and  slow 
Cursing  the  glad  sunlight, 

Hungry  outcasts  go  ; 
Where  all  mirth  is  silenced, 

And  the  health  is  chill, 
For  one  place  is  empty, 

And  one  voice  is  still. 

Some  hearts  will  be  lighter 

While  your  captives  roam 
For  their  tender  singing, 

Then  recall  them  home  ; 
When  the  sunny  hours 

Into  night  depart, 
Softly  they  will  nestle 

In  a  quiet  heart. 


THE  PEACE  OF  GOD. 

E  ask  for  Peace,  O  Lord ! 

Thy  children  ask  Thy  Peace ; 
Not  what  the  world  calls  rest, 
That  toil  and  care  should  cease, 
That  through  bright  sunny  hours 
Calm  Life  should  fleet  away, 


lSo  THE  PEACE  OF  GOD. 

And  tranquil  night  should  fade 
In  smiling  day ;  — 
It  is  not  for  such  Peace  that  we  would  pray. 

We  ask  for  Peace,  O  Lord  ! 

Yet  not  to  stand  secure, 
Girt  round  with  iron  Pride, 

Contented  to  endure  : 
Crushing  the  gentle  strings 

That  human  hearts  should  know, 
Untouched  by  others'  joy 
Or  others'  woe ;  — 
Thou,  0  dear  Lord,  wilt  never  teach  us  so. 

We  ask  Thy  Peace,  0  Lord  ! 

Through  storm,  and  fear,  and  strife, 
To  light  and  guide  us  on, 

Through  a  long,  struggling  life : 
While  no  success  or  gain 

Shall  cheer  the  desperate  fight, 
Or  nerve,  what  the  world  calls, 
Our  wasted  might :  — 
Yet  pressing  through  the  darkness  to  the  light. 

It  is  Thine  own,  O  Lord, 

Who  toil  while  others  sleep; 
Who  sow  with  loving  care 

What  other  hands  shall  reap : 
They  lean  on  Thee  entranced, 

In  calm  and  perfect  rest : 
Give  us  that  Peace,  O  Lord, 
Divine  and  hlest, 
Thou  keepest  for  those  hearts  who  love  Thee  best 


LIFE  IN  DEATH,  ETC.  151 

LIFE  IN  DEATH  AND  DEATH  IN  LIFE. 

1. 

F  the  dread  day  that  calls  thec  hence 
Through  a  red  mist  of  fear  should 

loom, 
(Closing  in  deadliest  night  and  gloom 
Long  hours  of  aching,  dumb  suspense,) 
And  leave  me  to  my  lonely  doom,  — 

I  think,  beloved,  I  could  sec 

In  thy  dear  eyes  the  loving  light 
Glaze  into  vacancy  and  night, 

And  still  say,   "  God  is  good  to  me, 
And  all  that  He  decrees  is  right." 

That,  watching  thy  slow  struggling  breath, 
And  answering  each  imperfect  sign, 
I  still  could  pray  thy  prayer  and  mine, 

And  tell  thee,  dear,  though  this  was  death, 
That  God  was  love,  and  love  divine. 

Could  hold  thee  in  my  arms,  and  lay 
Upon  my  heart  thy  weary  head, 
And  meet  thy  last  smile  ere  it  fled; 

Then  hear,  as  in  a  dream,  one  say, 
"Now  all  is  over,  —  she  is  dead." 

Could  smooth  thy  garments  with  fond  care, 
And  cross  thy  hands  upon  thy  breast, 
And  kiss  thine  eyelids  down  to  rest, 

And  yet  say  no  word  of  despair, 

But,  through  my  sobbing,  "It  is  best." 


X5»  LIFE  IN  DEATH 

Could  stifle  down  the  gnawing  pain, 
And  say,  "  We  still  divide  our  life, 
She  has  the  rest,  and  I  the  strife, 

And  mine  the  loss,  and  hers  the  gain : 
My  ill  with  bliss  for  her  is  rife." 

Then  turn,  and  the  old  duties  take  — 
Alone  now  —  yet  with  earnest  will 
Gathering  sweet,  sacred  traces  still 

To  help  me  on,  and,  for  thy  sake, 
My  heart  and  life  and  soul  to  fill. 

I  think  I  could  check  vain,  weak  tears, 

And  toil,  — although  the  world's  great  space 
Held  nothing  but  one  vacant  place, 

And  see  the  dark  and  weary  years 
Lit  only  by  a  vanished  grace. 

And  sometimes,  when  the  day  was  o'er, 

Call  up  the  tender  past  again  : 

Its  painful  joy,  its  happy  pain, 
And  live  it  over  yet  once  more, 

And  say,  "  But  few  more  years  remain." 

And  then,  when  I  had  striven  my  best, 
And  all  around  would  smiling  say, 
"  See  how  Time  makes  all  grief  decay," 

Would  lie  down  thankfully  to  rest, 
And  seek  thee  in  eternal  day. 

ii. 
But  if  the  day  should  ever  rise  — 
It  could  not  and  it  cannot  be  — 
Yet,  if  the  sun  should  ever  see, 


AXD  DEATH  IN  LIFE.  153 

Looking  upon  us  from  his  skies, 

A  day  that  took  thy  heart  from  me ; 

If  loving  tlicc  still  more  and  more, 
And  still  so  willing  to  be  blind, 
I  should  the  bitter  knowledge  find, 

That  Time  had  eaten  out  the  core 
Of  love,  and  left  the  empty  rind  ; 

If  the  poor  lifeless  words,  at  last, 

(The  soul  gone,  that  was  once  so  sweet,) 
Should  cease  my  eager  heart  to  cheat, 

And  crumble  back  into  the  past, 
And  show  the  whole  a  vain  deceit ; 

If  I  should  sec  thee  turn  away, 

And  know  that  prayer,  and  time,  and  pain, 
Could  no  more  thy  lost  love  regain, 

Than  bid  the  hours  of  dying  day 
Gleam  in  their  mid-day  noon  again  ; 

If  I  should  loose  thy  hand,  and  know- 
That  henceforth  we  must  dwell  apart, 
Since  I  had  seen  thy  love  depart, 

And  only  count  the  hours  flow 

By  the  dull  throbbing  of  my  heart ; 

If  I  should  gaze  and  gaze  in  vain 
Into  thine  eyes  so  deep  and  clear, 
And  read  the  truth  of  all  my  fear 

Half  mixed  with  pity  for  mj  pain, 
And  sorrow  for  the  vanished  year ; 

If,  not  to  grieve  thee  overmuch, 
I  strove  to  counterfeit  disdain, 
And  weave  me  a  new  life  again, 


1 54  RECOLLECTION'S. 

"Which  thy  life  could  not  mar,  or  touch, 
And  so  smile  down  ray  {jitter  pain ;  — 

The  ghost  of  my  dead  Past  would  rise 
And  mock  me,  and  I  could  not  dare 
Look  to  a  future  of  despair, 

Or  even  to  the  eternal  skies, 

Tor  I  should  still  be  lonely  there. 

AH  Truth,  all  Honor,  then  would  seem 
Yain  clouds,  which  the  first  wind  blew  by ; 
All  Trust,  a  folly  doomed  to  die ; 

All  Life,  a  useless,  empty  dream  ; 

All  Love  —  since  thine  had  failed  —  a  lie. 

But  see,  thy  tender  smile  has  cast 
My  fear  away  :  this  thought  of  mine 
Is  treason  to  my  Love  and  thine ; 

For  Love  is  Life,  and  Death  at  last 
Crowns  it  eternal  and  divine  1 


RECOLLECTIONS. 


fp^fjs^r-.'  S  strangers,  you  and  I  are  here ; 
!^/Ypfj        We  both  as  aliens  stand 

./r-V''    Where  once,  in  years  gone  by,  I  dwelt 
£&■!:■'-■&.       No  stranger  in  the  land. 


Then  while  you  gaze  on  park  and  stream, 

Let  me  remain  apart, 
And  listen  to  the  awakened  sound 

Of  voices  in  my  heart. 


RECOLLECTIONS.  155 

Here,  -where  upon  the  velvet  lawn 

The  cedar  spreads  its  shade, 
And  by  the  flower-beds  all  around 

Bright  roses  bloom  and  fade, 
{Shrill  merry  childish  laughter  rings, 

And  baby  voices  sweet, 
And  by  me,  on  the  path,  I  hear 

The"  tread  of  little  feet. 

Down  the  dark  avenue  of  limes, 

Whose  perfume  loads  the  air, 
Whose  boughs  arc  rustling  overhead, 

(For  the  west  wind  is  there,) 
I  hear  the  sound  of  earnest  talk, 

Warnings  and  counsels  wise, 
And  the  quick  questioning  that  brought 

Such  gentle,  calm  replies. 

Still  the  light  bridge  hangs  o'er  the  lake, 

Where  broad-leaved  lilies  lie, 
And  the  cool  water  shows  again 

The  cloud  that  moves  on  high ;  — 
And  one  voice  speaks,  in  tones  I  thought 

The  past  forever  kept ; 
But  now  I  know,  deep  in  my  heart 

Its  echoes  only  slept. 

I  hear,  within  the  shady  porch, 

Once  more,  the  measured  sound 
Of  the  old  ballads  that  were  read, 

While  wc  sat  listening  round ; 
The  starry  passion-flower  still 

Up  the  green  trellis  climbs; 
The  tendrils  waving  seem  to  keep 

The  cadence  of  the  rhymes. 


i56  ILLUSION. 

I  might  have  striven,  and  striven  in  vain, 

Such  visions  to  recall, 
"Well  known  and  yet  forgotten ;  now 

I  see,  I  hear,  them  all ! 
The  Present  pales  before  the  Past, 

Who  comes  with  angel  wings  ; 
As  in  a  dream  I  stand,  amidst 

Strange  yet  familiar  things  ! 

Enough ;  so  let  us  go,  mine  eyes 

Are  blinded  by  their  tears  ; 
A  voice  speaks  to  my  soul  to-day 

Of  long-forgotten  years. 
And  yet  the  vision  in  my  heart, 

In  a  few  hours  more, 
Will  fade  into  the  silent  past, 

Silently  as  before. 


ILLUSION. 


HERE  the  golden  corn  is  bending, 
And  the  singing  reapers  pass, 
Where  the  chestnut  woods  arc  sending 
Leafy  showers  upon  the  grass, 

The  blue  river  onward  flowing 

Mingles  with  its  noisy  strife, 
The  murmur  of  the  flowers  growing, 

And  the  hum  of  insect  life. 

I  from  that  rich  plain  was  gazing 
Towards  the  snowy  mountains  high, 


ILLUSION.  157 

Who  their  gleaming  peaks  were  raising 
Up  against  the  purple  sky. 

And  the  glory  of  their  shining, 

Bathed  in  clouds  of  rosy  light, 
Set  my  weary  spirit  pining 

For  a  home  so  pure  and  bright ! 

So  I  left  the  plain,  and  weary, 
Fainting,  yet  with  hope  sustained, 

Toiled  through  pathways  long  and  dreary 
Till  the  mountain-top  was  gained. 

Lo !  the  height  that  I  had  taken, 

As  so  shining  from  below, 
Was  a  desolate,  forsaken 

Region  of  perpetual  snow. 

I  am  faint,  my  feet  are  bleeding, 

All  my  feeble  strength  is  worn, 
In  the  plain  no  soul  is  heeding, 

I  am  here  alone,  forlorn. 

Lights  are  shining,  bells  are  tolling, 

In  the  busy  vale  below ; 
Near  me  night's  black  clouds  are  rolling, 

Gathering  o'er  a  waste  of  snow. 

So  I  watch  the  river  winding 

Through  the  misty  fading  plain, 
Bitter  are  the  tear-drops  blinding, 

Bitter  useless  toil  and  pain,  — 
Bitterest  of  all  the  finding 

That  my  dream  was  false  and  vain ! 


i58  A  VISION. 

A  VISION. 


ygffLOOMY  and  black  arc  the  cypress-trees, 
Drearily  waileth  the  chill  night  breeze. 
The  long  grass  waveth,  the  tombs  ara 
white, 

And  the  black  clouds  flit  o'er  the  chill  moonlight. 
Silent  is  all  save  the  dropping  rain, 
When  slowly  there  comcth  a  mourning  train ; 
The  lone  churchyard  is  dark  and  dim, 
And  the  mourners  raise  a  funeral  hymn, 

"  Open,  dark  grave,  and  take  her 
Though  we  have  loved  her  so, 
Yet  we  must  now  forsake  her, 
Love  will  no  more  awake  her  : 

(0  bitter  woe  !) 
Open  thine  arms  and  take  her 

To  rest  below ! 

"  Vain  is  our  mournful  weeping, 

Her  gentle  life  is  o'er; 
Only  the  worm  is  creeping, 
Where  she  will  soon  be  sleeping 

Fore  verm  ore : 
Nor  joy  nor  love  is  keeping 

For  her  in  stoic  !  " 

Gloomy  and  black  are  the  cypress-trees, 
And  drearily  wave  in  the  chill  night  breeze. 
The  dark  clouds  part  and  the  heavens  are  blue, 
Where  the  trembling  stars  are  shining  through. 


A    VISION.  159 

Slowly  across  the  gleaming  sky, 

A  crowd  of  white  angels  arc  passing  by. 

Like  a  fleet  of  swans  they  float  along, 
Or  the  silver  notes  of  a  (lying  song. 
Like  a  cloud  of  incense  their  pinions  rise, 
Fading  away  up  the  purple  skies. 
But  hush  !  for  the  silent  glory  is  stirred, 
By  a  strain  such  as  earth  has  never  heard; 

"  Open,  O  Heaven  !  we  bear  her, 

This  gentle  maiden  mild, 
Earth's  griefs  we  gladly  spare  her, 
From  earthly  joys  we  tear  her, 

Still  undefined ; 
And  to  thine  arms  we  bear  her, 

Thine  own,  thy  child. 

"  Open,  O  Heaven  !  no  morrow 

Will  see  this  joy  o'crcast, 
No  pain,  no  tears,  no  sorrow, 
Her  gentle  heart  will  borrow ; 

Sad  life  is  past ; 
Shielded  and  safe  from  sorrow, 

At  home  at  last." 

But  the  vision  faded  and  all  was  still, 
On  the  purple  valley  and  distant  hill. 
No  sound  was  there  save  the  wailing  breeze, 
The  rain,  and  the  rustling  cypress-trees. 


l6o  PICTURES  IN  THE  FIRE. 


PICTURES  IN   THE  FIRE. 


HAT  is  it  you  ask  mc,  darling  ? 
All  my  stories,  child,  you  know ; 
I  have  no  strange  dreams  to  tell  you, 
Pictures  I  have  none  to  show. 


Tell  you  glorious  scenes  of  travel  ? 

Nay,  my  child,  that  cannot  be, 
I  have  seen  no  foreign  countries, 

Marvels  none  on  land  or  sea. 

Yet  strange  sights  in  truth  I  witness, 

And  I  gaze  until  I  tire ; 
Wondrous  pictures,  changing  ever, 

As  I  look  into  the  fire. 

There,  last  night,  I  saw  a  cavern, 
Black  as  pitch ;  within  it  lay, 

Coiled  in  many  folds,  a  dragon, 
Glaring  as  if  turned  at  bay. 

And  a  knight  in  dismal  armor 

On  a  winged  eagle  came, 
To  do  battle  with  this  dragon ; 

And  his  crest  was  all  of  flame. 

As  I  gazed  the  dragon  faded, 
And,  instead,  sat  Pluto  crowned 

By  a  lake  of  burning  fire  ; 

Spirits  dark  were  crouching  round. 


PICTURES  IN   TIIE  FIRE.  161 

That  was  gone,  and  lo  !  before  me, 

A  cathedral  vast  and  grim  ; 
I  could  almost  hear  the  organ 

Peal  along  the  arches  dim. 

As  I  watched  the  wreathed  pillars, 

Groves  of  stately  palms  arose, 
And  a  group  of  swarthy  Indians 

Stealing  on  some  sleeping  foes. 

Stay  :  a  cataract  glancing  brightly 
Dashed  and  sparkled  ;  and  beside 

Lay  a  broken  marble  monster, 

Mouth  and  eyes  were  staring  wide. 

Then  I  saw  a  maiden  wreathing 
Starry  flowers  in  garlands  sweet ; 

Did  she  see  the  fiery  serpent 
That  was  wrapped  about  her  feet  ? 

That  fell  crashing  all  and  vanished ; 

And  I  saw  two  armies  close,  — 
I  could  almost  hear  the  clarions, 

And  the  shouting  of  the  foes. 

They  were  gone  ;  and  lo  !  bright  angels, 

On  a  barren  mountain  wild, 
Raised  appealing  arms  to  Heaven, 

Bearing  up  a  little  child. 

And  I  gazed,  and  gazed,  and  slowly 
Gathered  in  my  eyes  sad  tears, 

And  the  fiery  pictures  bore  me 

Back  through  distant  dreams  of  years. 
ii 


j6z  TEE  SETTLERS. 

Once  again  I  tasted  sorrow, 

With  past  joy  was  once  more  gay, 

Till  the  shade  had  gathered  round  me  ■ 
And  the  fire  had  died  away. 


THE    SETTLERS. 


WO  stranger  youths  in  the  Far  West, 
Beneath  the  ancient  forest  trees, 
Pausing,  amid  their  toil  to  rest, 

Spake  of  their  home  beyond  the  seas ; 
Spake  of  the  hearts  that  beat  so  warmly, 

Of  the  hearts  they  loved  so  well, 
In  their  chilly  Northern  country. 

"  Would,"  they  cried,  "some  voice  could  tell 
Where  they  are,  our  own  beloved  ones  !  " 

They  looked  up  to  the  evening  sky 
Half  hidden  by  the  giant  branches, 
But  heard  no  angel-voice  reply. 
All  silent  was  the  quiet  evening ; 
Silent  were  the  ancient  trees  ; 
They  only  heard  the  murmuring  song 
Of  the  summer  breeze, 
That  gently  played  among 
The  acacia-trees. 

And  did  no  warning  spirit  answer, 

Amid  the  silence  all  around : 
"  Before  the  lowly  village  altar 

She  thou  lovest  may  be  found, 


THE  SETTLERS.  r«j 

Thon,  who  trustcst  still  so  blindly, 

Know  she  stands  a  smiling  bride ! 
Forgetting  thee,  she  turncth  kindly 

To  the  stranger  at  her  side. 
Yes,  this  day  thou  art  forgotten, 

Forgotten,  too,  thy  last  farewell, 
All  the  vows  that  she  has  spoken, 

And  thy  heart  has  kept  so  well. 
Dream  no  more  of  a  starry  future, 

In  thy  home  beyond  the  seas  !  " 
But  he  only  heard  the  gentle  sigh 
Of  the  summer  breeze, 

So  softly  passing  by 
The  acacia-trees. 

And  vainly,  too,  the  other,  looking 

Smiling  up  through  hopeful  tears, 
Asked  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  "  Where  is  she^ 

She  I  love  these  many  years  ?  " 
He  heard  no  echo  calling  faintly  : 

"  Lo,  she  lieth  cold  and  pale, 
And  her  smile  so  calm  and  saintly 

Heeds  not  grieving  sob  or  wail,  — 
Heeds  not  the  lilies  strewn  upon  her, 

Pure  as  she  is,  and  as  white, 
Or  the  solemn  chanting  voices, 

Or  the  taper's  ghastly  light." 
But  silent  still  was  the  ancient  forest, 

Silent  were  the  gloomy  trees  ; 
He  only  heard  the  wailing  sound 
Of  the  summer  breeze, 

That  sadly  played  around 
The  acacia-trees ! 


1 64  HUSH! 

HUSH! 

CAN  scarcely  hear,"  she  murmured, 
"  For  my  heart  beats  loud  and  fast, 
But  surely,  in  the  far,  far  distance, 
I  can  hear  a  sound  at  last." 
"  It  is  only  the  reapers  singing, 

As  they  carry  home  their  sheaves ; 
And  the  evening  breeze  has  risen, 
And  rustles  the  dying  leaves." 

"  Listen  !  there  are  voices  talking." 
Calmly  still  she  strove  to  speak, 
Yet  her  voice  grew  faint  and  trembling, 
And  the  red  flushed  in  her  cheek. 
"  It  is  only  the  children  playing 

Below,  now  their  work  is  done, 
And  they  laugh  that  their  eyes  are  dazzled 
By  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun." 

Fainter  grew  her  voice,  and  weaker, 

As  with  anxious  eyes  she  cried, 
•'  Down  the  avenue  of  chestnuts, 
I  can  hear  a  horseman  ride." 

"  It  was  only  the  deer  that  were  feeding 

In  a  herd  on  the  clover-grass, 
They  were  startled,  and  fled  to  the  thicket, 
As  they  saw  the  reapers  pass." 

Now  the  night  arose  in  silence, 

Birds  lay  in  their  leafy  nest, 
And  the  deer  couched  in  the  forest, 

And  the  children  were  at  rest : 


n OURS.  165 

There  was  only  a  sound  of  weeping 

From  watchers  around  a  bed, 
But  Rest  to  the  weary  spirit, 

Peace  to  the  quiet  Dead ! 


HOURS. 

HEN  the  bright  stars  came  out  last  night, 
And  the  dew  lay  on  the  flowers, 
I  had  a  vision  of  delight,  — 
A  dream  of  bygone  hours. 

Those  hours  that  came  and  fled  so  fast, 

Of  pleasure  or  of  pain, 
As  phantoms  rose  from  out  the  past 

Before  my  eyes  again. 

With  beating  heart  did  I  behold 

A  train  of  joyous  hours, 
Lit  with  the  radiant  light  of  old, 

And,  smiling,  crowned  with  flowers. 

And  some  were  hours  of  childish  sorrow, 

A  mimicry  of  pain, 
That  through  their  tears  looked  for  a  morrow 

They  knew  must  smile  again. 

Those  hours  of  hope  that  longed  for  life, 

And  wished  their  part  begun, 
And  ere  the  summons  to  the  strife 

Dreamed  that  the  field  was  won. 


J  66  nouns. 

I  knew  the  echo  of  their  voice, 
The  starry  crowns  they  wore  ; 

The  vision  made  my  soul  rejoice 
With  the  old  thrill  of  yore. 

I  knew  the  perfume  of  their  flowers ; 

The  glorious  shining  rays 
Around  these  happy,  smiling  hours 

Were  lit  in  bygone  days. 

O  stay,  I  cried,  —  bright  visions,  stay, 
And  leave  me  not  forlorn  ! 

But,  smiling  still,  they  passed  away, 
Like  shadows  of  the  morn. 

One  spirit  still  remained,  and  cried, 
"  Thy  soul  shall  ne'er  forget ! " 

He  standeth  ever  by  my  side,  — 
The  phantom  called  Regret ! 

But  still  the  spirits  rose,  and  thero 
Were  weary  hours  of  pain, 

And  anxious  hours  of  fear  and  care 
Bound  by  an  iron  chain. 

Dim  shadows  came  of  lonely  hours, 
That  shunned  the  light  of  day, 

And  in  the  opening  smile  of  flowers 
Saw  only  quick  decay. 

Calm  hours  that  sought  the  starry  skies 
For  heavenly  lore  were  there ; 

With  folded  hands  and  earnest  eyes, 
I  knew  the  hours  of  prayer. 


TIIE   TWO   INTERPRETERS.  167 

Stern  hours  that  darkened  the  sun's  light, 

Heralds  of  coming  woes, 
"With  trailing  wings,  before  my  sight 

From  the  dim  past  arose. 

As  each  dark  vision  passed  and  spoka 

I  prayed  it  to  depart : 
At  each  some  buried  sorrow  woke 

And  stirred  within  my  heart,  — 

Until  these  hours  of  pain  and  care- 
Lifted  their  tearful  eyes, 

Spread  their  dark  pinions  in  the  air, 
And  passed  into  the  skies. 


THE  TWO  INTERPRETERS. 

HE  clouds  are  fleeting  by,  father; 

Look,  in  the  shining  west, 
The  great  white  clouds  sail  onward 
Upon  the  sky's  blue  breast. 
Look  at  a  snowy  e  u.lc, 

His  wings  arc  tinged  with  red, 
And  a  giant  dolphin  follows  him, 
With  a  crown  upon  his  head  ! " 

The  father  spake  no  word,  but  watched 

The  drifting  clouds  roll  by; 
He  traced  a  misty  vision  too 

Upon  the  shining  sky : 


1 68  THE   TWO   INTERPRETERS. 

A  shadowy  form,  -with  well-known  grace 

Of  weary  love  and  care, 
Above  the  smiling  child  she  held, 

Shook  down  her  floating  hair. 

"  The  clouds  are  changing  now,  father, 

Mountains  rise  higher  and  higher ! 
And  see  where  red  and  purple  ships 

Sail  in  a  sea  of  fire  !  " 
The  father  pressed  the  little  hand 

More  closely  in  his  own, 
And  watched  a  cloud-dream  in  the  sky 

That  he  could  see  alone  : 
Bright  angels  carrying  far  away 

A  white  form,  cold  and  dead, 
Two  held  the  feet,  and  two  bore  up 

The  flower-crowned,  drooping  head- 

"  See,  father,  see  !  a  glory  floods 

The  sky,  and  all  is  bright, 
And  clouds  of  every  hue  and  shade 

Burn  in  the  golden  light. 
And  now,  above  an  azure  lake, 

Kise  battlements  and  towers, 
Where  knights  and  ladies  climb  the  Lie'^Ks, 

All  bearing  purple  flowers." 

The  father  looked,  and,  with  a  pang 

Of  love  and  strange  alarm, 
Drew  close  the  little  eager  child 

"Within  his  sheltering  arm  ; 
From  out  the  clouds  the  mother  looks 

With  wistful  glance  below, 
She  seems  to  seek  the  treasure  left 

On  earth  so  long  ago  ; 


COMFORT.  169 

She  holds  her  arms  out  to  her  child, 

His  cradle-song  she  singe  : 
The  last  rays  of  the  sunset  gleam 

Upon  her  outspread  wings. 

Calm  twilight  veils  the  summer  sky, 

The  shining  clouds  are  gone ; 
In  vain  the  merry  laughing  child 

Still  gayly  prattles  on  ; 
In  vain  the  bright  stars,  one  by  one, 

On  the  blue  silence  start, 
A  dreary  shadow  rests  to-night 

Upon  the  father's  heart. 


COMFORT. 

AST  thou  o'er  the  clear  heaven  of  thy 
soul 
Seen  tempests  roll 7 
Hast  thou  watched  all  the  hopes  thou 
wouldst  have  won 
Fade,  one  by  one "? 
Wait  till  the  clouds  are  past,  then  raise  thine  eyes 
To  bluer  skies. 

Hast  thou  gone  sadly  through  a  dreary  night, 

Ami  found  no  light, 
No  guide,  no  star,  to  cheer  thee  through  the  plain, 

No  friend,  save  pain  ? 
Wait,  and  thy  soul  shall  see,  when  most  forlorn, 

Rise  a  new  morn. 


x7o  COMFORT. 

Hast  thou  beneath  another's  stern  control 

Bent  thy  sad  soul, 
And  wasted  sacred  hopes,  and  precious  tears  ? 

Yet  calm  thy  fears, 
Tor  thou  canst  gain,  even  from  the  bitterest  part, 

A  stronger  heart. 


■*.-v 


Has  Fate  o'envhelmcd  thee  with  some  sudden  blow  ? 

Let  thy  tears  flow ; 
But  know  when  storms  are  past,  the  heavens  appear 

More  pure,  more  clear ; 
And  hope,  when  farthest  from  their  shining  rays, 

For  brighter  days. 

Hast  thou  found  life  a  cheat,  and  worn  in  vain 

Its  iron  chain  1 
Has  thy  soul  bent  beneath  earth's  heavy  bond? 

Look  thou  beyond ; 
If  life  is  bitter  —  there  forever  shine 

Hopes  more  divine. 

Art  thou  alone,  and  docs  thy  soul  complain 

It  lives  in  vain  ? 
Not  vainly  does  he  live  who  can  endure. 

O  be  thou  sure, 
That  he  who  hopes  and  suffers  here,  can  earn 

A  sure  return. 

Hast  thou  found  naught  within  thy  troubled  life 

Save  inward  strife  ? 
Hast  thou  found  all  she  promised  thee,  Deceit, 

And  Hope  a  cheat  1 
Endure,  and  there  shall  dawn  within  thy  breast 

Eternal  rest ! 


HOME  AT  LAST.  ,7, 


HOME   AT  LAST. 

HILD,  do  not  fear ; 
We  shall  reach  our  home  to-night, 
For  the  sky  is  clear, 
And  the  waters  bright ; 
And  the  breezes  have  scarcely  strength 
To  unfold  that  little  cloud, 
That  like  a  shroud 
Spreads  out  its  fleecy  length ; 

Then  have  no  fear, 
As  we  cleave  our  silver  way 

Through  the  waters  clear. 

Fear  not,  my  child  ! 
Though  the  waves  are  white  and  high, 
And  the  storm  blows  wild 

Through  the  gloomy  sky ; 
On  the  edge  of  the  western  sea, 
See  that  line  of  golden  light, 

Is  the  haven  bright 
Where  home  is  awaiting  thee ; 

Where,  this  peril  past, 
We  shall  rest  from  our  stormy  voyage 

In  peace  at  last. 

Be  not  afraid ; 
But  jrive  me  thy  hand,  and  seo 
How  the  waves  have  made 
A  cradle  for  thee. 
Night  is  come,  dear,  and  we  shall  rest ; 
So  turn  from  the  angry  skies, 
And  close  tliino  eyes, 


1 72  UNEXPRESSED. 

And  lay  thy  head  on  my  breast : 
Child,  do  not  weep ; 

In  the  calm,  cold,  purple  depths 
There  we  shall  sleep. 


UNEXPRESSED. 


WELLS  within  the  soul  of  every  Artist 
More  than  all  his  effort  can  express ; 
And  he    knows    the   best  remains  un. 
uttered ; 
Sighing  at  what  ice  call  Ids  success. 

Vainly  he  may  strive ;  he  dare  not  tell  us 
All  the  sacred  mysteries  of  the  skies : 
Vainly  he  may  strive ,  the  deepest  beauty 
Cannot  be  unveiled  to  mortal  eyes. 

And  the  more  devoutly  that  lie  listens, 
And  the  holier  message  that  is  sent, 
Still  the  more  his  soul  must  struggle  vainly, 
Bowed  beneath  a  noble  discontent. 

No  great  Thinker  ever  lived  and  taught  you 
All  the  wonder  that  his  soul  received  ; 
No  true  Painter  ever  set  on  canvas 
All  the  glorious  vision  he  conceived. 

No  Musician  ever  held  your  spirit 
Charmed  and  bound  in  his  melodious  chains, 
But  be  sure  he  heard,  and  strove  to  render, 
Feeble  echoes  of  celestial  strains. 


BECAUSE.  173 

No  real  Poet  ever  wove  in  numbers 
All  his  dream  ;  but  the  diviner  part, 
Hidden  from  all  the  world,  spake  to  him  only 
Iu  the  voiceless  silence  of  his  heart. 

So  with  Love  :  for  Love  and  Art  united 
Arc  twin  mysteries  ;  different,  yet  the  same : 
Poor  indeed  would  be  the  love  of  any 
Who  could  find  its  full  and  perfect  name. 

Love  may  strive,  but  vain  is  the  endeavor 
All  its  boundless  riches  to  unfold ; 
Still  its  tendcrest,  truest  secret  lingers 
Ever  in  its  deepest  depths  untold. 

Things  of  Time  have  voices  :  speak  and  perish. 
Art  and  Love  speak ;  but  their  words  must  be 
Like  sighings  of  illimitable  forests, 
And  waves  of  an  unfathomable  sea. 


BECAUSE. 

'  T  is  not  because  your  heart  is  mine  — 
mine  only  — 
Mine  alone ; 
It  is  not  because  you  choso  me,  weak 
and  lonely, 
For  your  own ; 
Not  because  the  earth  is  fairer,  and  the  skies 

Spread  above  you 
Are  more  radiant  for  the  shining  of  your  eyes  — 
That  I  love  you  ! 


j  74  BECAUSE. 

It  is  not  because  the  -world's  perplexed  meaning 

Grows  more  clear; 
And  the  Parapets  of  Heaven,  with  angels  leaning, 

Seem  moi-e  near ; 
And  Nature  sings  of  praise  with  all  her  voices 

Since  yours  spoke, 
Since  within  my  silent  heart,  that  now  rejoices, 

Love  awoke ! 

Nay,  not  even  because  your  hand  holds  heart  and 
life; 

At  your  will 
Soothing,  hushing  all  its  discord,  making  strife 

Calm  and  still; 
Teaching  Trust  to  fold  her  wings,  nor  ever  roam 

From  her  nest  ; 
Teaching  Love  that  her  securest,  safest  home 

Must  be  Rest. 

But  because  tins  human  Love,  though   true  and 
sweet  — 

Yours  and  mine  — 
Has  been  sent  by  Love  more  tender,  more  complete, 

More  divine ; 
That  it  leads  our  hearts  to  rest  at  last  in  Heaven, 

Far  above  you ; 
Do  I  take  you  as  a  gift  that  God  has  given  — 

—  And  I  love  you  1 


REST  AT  EVENING.  175 


REST    AT   EVENING. 

jjHEN  the  weariness  of  Life  is  ended, 
And  the  task  of  our  long  day  is  done, 
And   the  props,   on  which  our  hearts 
depended, 

All  have  failed  or  broken,  one  by  one  ; 
Evening  and  our  Sorrow's  shadow  blended, 
Telling  us  that  peace  is  now  begun. 

How  far  back  will  seem  the  sun's  first  dawning, 

And  those  early  mists  so  cold  and  gray ! 

Half  forgotten  even  the  toil  of  morning, 

And  the  heat  and  burthen  of  the  day  : 

Flowers  that  we  were  tending,  and  weeds  scorning, 

All  alike  withered  and  cast  away. 

Vain  will  seem  the  impatient  heart,  which  waited 

Toils  that  gathered  but  too  quickly  round ; 

And  the  childish  joy,  so  soon  elated 

At  the  path  we  thought  none  else  had  found ; 

And  the  foolish  ardor,  soon  abated 

By  the  storm  which  cast  us  to  the  ground. 

Vain  those  pauses  on  the  road,  each  seeming 

As  our  final  home  and  resting-place  ; 

And  the  leaving  them,  while  tears  were  streaming 

Of  eternal  sorrow  down  our  face  ; 

And  the  hands  we  held,  fond  folly  dreaming 

That  no  future  could  their  touch  efface. 

All  will  then  be  faded  :  —  night  will  borrow 
Stars  of  light  to  crown  our  perfect  rest ; 


j76  A  RETROSPECT. 

And  the  dim  vague  memory  of  faint  sorrow 
Just  remain  to  show  us  all  was  best, 
Then  melt  into  a  divine  to-morrow  :  — 
O  how  poor  a  day  to  be  so  blest ! 


A  RETROSPECT. 

jgg^|ROM  this  fair  point  of  present  bliss, 
Where  we  together  stand, 
Let  me  look  back  once  more,  and  traco 
That  long  and  desert  land, 
Wherein  till  now  was  cast  my  lot,  and  I  could  live, 
and  thou  wert  not. 

Strange  that  my  heart  could  beat,  and  know 

Alternate  joy  and  pain, 
That  suns  could  roll  from  east  to  west, 
And  clouds  could  pass  in  rain, 
And  the  slow  hours  without  thee  fleet,  nor  6tay 
their  noiseless  silver  feet. 

What  had  I  then  ?  a  Hope,  that  grew 

Each  hour  more  bright  and  dear, 
The  flush  upon  the  eastern  skies 
That  showed  the  sun  was  near  :  — 
Now  night  has  faded  far  away,  my  sun  has  risen, 
and  it  is  day. 

A  dim  Ideal  of  tender  grace 
In  my  soul  reigned  supreme ; 


A   RETROSPECT. 


177 


Too  noble  and  too  sweet  I  thought 
To  live,  save  in  a  dream  ;  — 
Within  thy  heart  to-day  it  lies,  and  looks  on  mo 
from  thy  dear  eyes. 

Some  gentle  spirit  —  Love  I  thought  — 

Built  many  a  shrine  of  pain  ; 
Though  each  false  Idol  fell  to  dust, 
The  worship  was  not  vain, 
But  a  faint,  radiant   shadow  cast  back  from  our 
Love  upon  the  Past. 

And  Grief,  too,  held  her  vigil  there ; 

With  unrelenting  sway 
Breaking  my  cloudy  visions  down, 
Throwing  my  flowers  away  :  — 
I  owe  to  her  fond  care  alone  that  I  may  now  be  all 
thine  own. 

Fair  Joy  was  there,  —  her  fluttering  wings 

At  times  she  strove  to  raise  ; 
Watching  through  long  and  patient  nights, 
Listening  long  eager  days  : 
I  know  now  that  her  heart  and  mine  were  waiting, 
Love,  to  welcome  thine. 

Thus  I  can  read  thy  name  throughout, 

And,  now  her  task  is  done, 
Can  see  that  even  that  faded  Past 
Was  thine,  beloved  one, 
And  so  rejoice  my  Life   may  be  all  consecrated, 
dear,  to  thee. 


12 


LEGENDS    AND    LYRICS. 

A  BOOK    OF    VERSES. 
SECOND   SERIES. 


A  LEGEND   OF   PROVENCE. 


HE   lights  extinguished  ;    by  the  hearth 
I  leant, 

Half  weary  with  a  listless  discontent. 

The  flickering  giant-shadows,  gathering 
near, 
Closed  round  me  with  a  dim  and  silent  fear. 
All  dull,  all  dark ;  save  when  the  leaping  flame, 
Glancing,  lit  up  a  Picture's  ancient  frame. 
Above  the  hearth  it  hung.     Perhaps  the  night, 
My  foolish  tremors,  or  the  gleaming  light, 
Lent  power  to  that  Portrait  dark  and  quaint  — 
A  Portrait  such  as  Rembrandt  loved  to  paint  — 
The  likeness  of  a  Nun.     I  seemed  to  trace 
A  world  of  sorrow  in  the  patient  face, 
In  the  thin  hands  folded  across  her  breast : 
Its  own  and  the  room's  shadow  hid  the  rest. 
I  gazed  and  dreamed,  and  the  dull  embers  stirred, 
Till  an  old  legend  that  I  once  had  heard 
Came  back  to  me  ;   linked  to  the  mystic  gloom 
Of  that  dark  Picture  in  the  ghostly  room. 


In  the  far  south,  where  clustering  vines  are  hung; 
Where  first  the  old  chivalric  lays  were  sung ; 


1 82  A  LEGEND    OF  PROVENCE. 

Where  earliest  smiled  that  gracious  child  of  France,. 
Angel  and  knight  and  fairy,  called  Eomance, 
I  stood  one  day.     The  warm  blue  June  was  spread 
Upon  the  earth  ;  blue  summer  overhead, 
Without  a  cloud  to  fleck  its  radiant  glare, 
Without  a  breath  to  stir  its  sultry  air. 
AH  still,  all  silent,  save  the  sobbing  rush 
Of  rippling  waves,  that  lapsed  in  silver  hush 
Upon  the  beach ;  where,  glittering  towards  the  strand, 
The  purple  Mediterranean  kissed  the  land. 

AH  still,  all  peaceful ;  when  a  convent  chime 
Broke  on  the  mid-day  silence  for  a  time, 
Then  trembling  into  quiet,  seemed  to  cease, 
In  deeper  silence  and  more  utter  peace. 
So  as  I  turned  to  gaze,  where  gleaming  white, 
Half  hid  by  shadowy  trees  from  passers'  sight, 
The  Convent  lay,  one  who  had  dwelt  for  long 
In  that  fair  home  of  ancient  tale  and  song, 
Who  knew  the  story  of  each  cave  and  hill, 
And  every  haunting  fancy  lingering  still 
Within  the  land,  spake  thus  to  me,  and  told 
The  Convent's  treasured  Legend,  quaint  and  old :  — • 

Long  years  ago,  a  dense  and  flowering  wood, 
Still  more  concealed  where  the  white  convent  stood, 
Borne  on  its  perfumed  wings  the  title  came : 
"  Our  Lady  of  the  Hawthorns  "  is  its  name. 
Then  did  that  bell,  which  still  rings  out  to-day, 
Bid  all  the  country  rise,  or  eat,  or  praj*. 
Before  that  convent  shrine,  the  haughty  knight 
Passed  the  lone  vigil  of  his  perilous  fight ; 
For  humbler  cottage  strife  or  village  brawl, 
The  Abbess  listened,  prayed,  and  settled  all. 


A  LEGEND    OF  PROVENCE.  1S3 

Young  hearts  that  came,  weighed  down  by  love  or 

wrong, 
Left  her  kind  presence  comforted  and  strong. 
Each  passing  pilgrim,  and  each  beggar's  right 
Was  food,  and  rest,  and  shelter  for  the  night. 
Bat,  more  than  this,  the  nuns  could  well  impart 
The  deepest  mysteries  of  the  healing  art ; 
Their  slorc  of  licrhs  and  simples  was  renowned, 
And  held  in  wondering  faith  for  miles  around. 
Tims  strife,  love,  sorrow,  good  and  evil  fate, 
Found  help  and  blessing  at  the  convent  gate. 

Of  all  the  nuns,  no  heart  was  half  so  light, 

No  eyelids  veiling  glances  half  as  bright, 

No  step  that  glided  with  such  noiseless  feet, 

No  face  that  looked  so  tender  or  so  sweet, 

No  voice  that  rose  in  choir  so  pure,  so  clear, 

No  heart  to  all  the  others  half  so  dear, 

So  surely  touched  by  others'  pain  or  woe, 

(Guessing  the  grief  her  young  life  could  not  know,) 

No  soul  in  childlike  faith  so  undented, 

As  Sister  Angela's,  the  "  Convent  Child." 

For  thus  they  loved  to  call  her.      She  had  known 

No  home,  no  love,  no  kindred,  save  their  own. 

An  orphan,  to  their  tender  nursing  given, 

Child,  plaything,  pupil,  now  the  Bride  of  Heaven. 

And  she  it  was  who  trimmed  the  lamp's  red  light 

That  swung  before  the  altar,  day  and  night ; 

Iltir  hands  it  was,  whose  patient  skill  could  trace 

The  finest  broidery,  weave  the  costliest  lace; 

But  most  of  all,  her  first  and  dearest  care, 

The  office  she  would  never  miss  or  share, 

Was  every  day  to  weave  fresh  garlands  sweet, 

To  place  before  the  shrine  at  Mary's  feet. 


1 84  A  LEGEND    OF  PROVENCE. 

Nature  is  bounteous  in  that  region  fair, 

For  even  Winter  lias  her  blossoms  there. 

Thus  Angela  loved  to  count  each  feast  the  best, 

By  telling  with  what  flowers  the  shrine  was  dressed. 

In  pomp  supreme  the  countless  Roses  passed, 

Battalion  on  battalion  thronging  fast, 

Each  with  a  different  banner,  flaming  bright, 

Damask,  or  striped,  or  crimson,  pink,  or  white, 

Until  they  bowed  before  a  new-born  queen, 

And  the  pure  virgin  Lily  rose  serene. 

Though  Angela  always  thought  the  Mother  blest 

Must  love  the  time  of  her  own  hawthorns  best, 

Each  evening  through  the  year,  with  equal  care, 

She  placed  her  flowers;    then  kneeling  down  in 

prayer, 
As  their  faint  perfume  rose  before  the  shrine, 
So  rose  her  thoughts,  as  pure  and  as  divine. 
She  knelt  until  the  shades  grew  dim  without, 
Till  one  by  one  the  altar  lights  shone  out, 
Till  one  by  one  the  Nuns,  like  shadows  dim, 
Gathered  around  to  chant  their  vesper  hymn ; 
Her  voice  then  led  the  music's  winged  flight, 
And  "Ave,  Maris  Stella"  filled  the  night. 

But  wherefore  linger  on  those  days  of  peace  1 
When  storms  draw  near,  then  quiet  hours  must  ceaso. 
War,  cruel  war,  defaced  the  land,  and  came 
So  near  the  convent  with  its  breath  of  flame, 
That,  seeking  shelter,  frightened  peasants  fled, 
Sobbing  out  talcs  of  coming  fear  and  dread. 
Till  after  a  fierce  skirmish,  down  the  road, 
One  night  came  straggling  soldiers,  with  their  load 
Of  wounded,  dying  comrades ;  and  the  band, 
Half  pleading,  yet  as  if  they  could  command, 


A  LEGEND    OF  PROVENCE.  185 

Summoned  the  trembling  Sisters,  craved  their  care. 

Then  rode  away,  and  left  the  wounded  there. 

But  soon  compassion  bade  all  fear  depart, 

And  bidding  every  Sister  do  her  part, 

Some  prepare  simples,  healing  salves,  or  bands, 

The  Abbess  chose  the  more  experienced  hands 

To  dress  the  wounds  needing  most  skilful  care; 

Yet  even  the  youngest  Novice  took  her  share. 

To  Angela,  who  had  but  ready  will 

And  tender  pity,  yet  no  special  skill, 

Was  given  the  charge  of  a  young  foreign  knight, 

Whose  wounds  were  painful,  hut  whose  danger  slight. 

Day  after  day  she  watched  beside  his  lied, 

And  first  in  hushed  repose  the  hours  fled: 

His  feverish  moans  alone  the  silence  stirred, 

Or  her  soft  voice,  uttering  some  pious  word. 

At  last  the  fever  left  him ;  day  by  day 

The  hours,  no  longer  silent,  passed  away. 

What  could  she  speak  of?  First,  to  still  his  plaints. 

She  told  him  legends  of  the  martyred  Saints  ; 

Described  the  pangs,  which,  through  God's  plen» 

teous  grace, 
Had  gained  their  souls  so  high  and  bright  a  place. 
This  pious  artifice  soon  found  success  — 
Or  so  she  fancied  —  for  he  murmured  less. 
So  she  described  the  glorious  pomp  sublime 
In  which  the  chapel  shone  at  Easter  time, 
The  banners,  vestments,  gold,  ami  colors  bright. 
Counted  how  many  tapers  gave  their  light; 
Then  in  minute  detail  went  on  to  say, 
How  the  High  Altar  looked  on  Christmas-day: 
The  kings  and  shepherds,  all  in  green  and  red, 
And  a  bright  star  of  jewels  overhead. 
Then  told  the  sign  by  which  they  all  had  seen 


,86  A  LEGEND    OF  PROVENCE. 

How  even  nature  loved  to  greet  her  Queen, 
For,  when  Our  Lady's  last  procession  went 
Down  the  long  garden,  every  head  was  bent, 
And,  rosary  in  hand,  each  Sister  prayed ; 
As  the  long  floating  banners  were  displayed, 
They  struck  the  hawthorn  boughs,  and  showers  and 

showers 
Of  buds  and  blossoms  strewed  her  way  with  flowers. 
The  knight  unwearied  listened ;  till  at  last, 
He  too  described  the  glories  of  his  past ; 
Tourney,  and  joust,  and  pageant  bright  and  fair, 
And  all  the  lovely  ladies  who  were  there. 
But  half  incredulous  she  heard.     Could  this  — 
This  be  the  world  ?  this  place  of  love  and  bliss  ! 
"Where  then  was  hid  the  strange  and  hideous  charm, 
That  never  failed  to  bring  the  gazer  harm  1 
She  crossed  herself,  yet  asked,  and  listened  still, 
And  still  the  knight  described  with  all  his  skill 
The  glorious  world  of  joy,  all  joys  above, 
Transfigured  in  the  golden  mist  of  love. 
Spread,   spread  your  wings,    ye   angel    guardians 

bright, 
And  shield  these  dazzling  phantoms  from  her  sight  I 
But  no  ;  days  passed,  matins  and  vespers  rang, 
And  still  the  quiet  nuns  toiled,  prayed,  and  sang, 
And  never  guessed  the  fatal,  coiling  net 
Which  every  day  drew  near,  and  nearer  yet, 
Around  their  darling ;  for  she  went  and  came 
About  her  duties,  outwardly  the  same. 
The  same  ?  ah,  no  !  even  when  she  knelt  to  pray, 
Some  charmed  dream  kept  all  her  heart  away. 
So  days  went  on,  until  the  convent  gate 
Opened  one  night.     Who  durst  go  forth  so  late  ? 
Across  the  moonlit  grass,  with  stealthy  tread, 


A  LEGEND    OF  PROVENCE.  187 

Two  silent,  shrouded  figures  passed  and  fled. 
And  all  was  silent,  save  (he  moaning  seas, 
That  Bobbed  and  pleaded,  and  a  wailing  breeze 
That  sighed  among  the  perfumed  hawthorn-trees. 

What  need  to  tell  that  dream  so  bright  and  brief, 

Of  joy  nncheckered  by  a  dread  of  grief? 

What  need  to  tell  how  all  such  dreams  must  fade, 

Before  the  slow,  foreboding,  dreaded  shade, 

That  floated  nearer,  until  pomp  and  pride, 

Pleasure  and  wealth,  were  summoned  to  her  side, 

To  bid,  at  least,  the  noisy  hours  forget, 

And  clamor  down  the  whispers  of  regret. 

Still  Angela  strove  to  dream,  and  strove  in  vain ; 

Awakened  onec,  she  could  not  sleep  again. 

She  saw,  each  day  and  hour,  more  worthless  grown 

The  heart  for  which  she  east  away  her  own ; 

And  her  soul  learnt,  through  bitterest  inward  strife, 

The  slight,  frail  love  for  which  she  wrecked  her  life, 

The  phantom  for  which  all  her  hope  was  given, 

The  cold  bleak  earth  for  which  she  bartered  heaven ! 

But  all  in  vain ;  would  even  the  tenderest  heart 

Now  stoop  to  take  so  poor  an  outcast's  part  ? 

Years  fled,  and  she  grew  reckless  more  and  more, 
Until  the  humblest  peasant  (dosed  his  door, 
And  where  she  passed,  fair  dames,  in  scorn  and  pride, 
Shuddered,  and  drew  their  rustling  robes  aside. 
At  last  a  yearning  seemed  to  fill  her  soul, 
A  longing  that  was  stronger  than  control: 
Once  more,  just  once  again,  to  see  the  place 
That  knew  her  young  and  innocent ;  to  retrace 
The  long  and  weary  southern  path ;  to  gazo 
Upon  the  haveu  of  her  childish  days ; 


i88  A  LEGEND    OF  PROVENCE. 

Once  more  beneath  the  convent  roof  to  lie  ; 
Once  more  to  look  upon  her  home  —  and  die! 
Weary  and  worn  —  her  comrades,  chill  remorse 
And  black  despair,  yet  a  strange  silent  force 
Within  her  heart,  that  drew  her  more  and  more  — 
Onward  she  crawled,  and  begged  from  door  to  door. 
Weighed  down  with  weary  days,  her  failing  strength 
Grew  less  each  hour,  till  one  day's  dawn  at  length, 
As  first  its  rays  flooded  the  world  with  light, 
Showed  the  broad  waters,  glittering  blue  and  bright, 
And  where,  amid  the  leafy  hawthorn  wood, 
Just  as  of  old  the  quiet  cloister  stood. 
Would  any  know  her  ?     Nay,  no  fear.     Her  face 
Had  lost  all  trace  of  youth,  of  joy,  of  grace, 
Of  the  pure,  happy  soul  they  used  to  know  — 
The  novice  Angela  —  so  long  ago. 
She  rang  the  convent  bell.     The  well-known  sound 
Smote  on  her  heart,  and  bowed  her  to  the  ground. 
And  she,  who  had  not  wept  for  long,  dry  years, 
Felt  the  strange  rush  of  unaccustomed  tears  ; 
Terror  and  anguish  seemed  to  check  her  breath, 
And  stop  her  heart.     0  God !  could  this  be  death  T 
Crouching  against  the  iron  gate,  she  laid 
Her  weary  head  against  the  liars,  and  prayed : 
But  nearer  footsteps  drew,  then  seemed  to  wait; 
And  then  she  heard  the  opening  of  the  grate, 
And  saw  the  withered  face,  on  which  awoke 
Pity  and  sorrow,  as  the  portress  spoke, 
And  asked  the  stranger's  bidding  :   "  Take  ra«  in," 
She  faltered,  "  Sister  Monica,  from  sin, 
And  sorrow,  and  despair,  that  will  not  cease ; 
O,  take  me  in,  and  let  me  die  in  peace  !  " 
With  soothing  words  tho  Si-ter  bnlc  her  wait, 
Until  she  brought  the  key  to  unbar  the  gate. 


A  LEGEND    OF  PROVENCE.  1S9 

The  beggar  tried  to  thank  her  as  she  lay, 

And  heard  the  echoing  footsteps  die  away. 

But  what  soft  voice  was  that  which  sounded  near, 

And  stirred  Btrange  trouble  in  her  heart  to  hear  ? 

She  raised  her  head  ;    she   saw  —  she  seemed  to 

know  — 
A  face  that  came  from  long,  long  years  ago  : 
Herself;  yet  not  as  when  she  fled  away, 
The  young  and  blooming  novice,  fair  and  gay, 
But  a  grave  woman,  gentle  and  serene  : 
The  outcast  knew  it,  — what  she  might  have  been. 
But,  as  she  gazed  and  gazed,  a  radiance  bright 
Filled  all  the  place  with  strange  and  sudden  light ; 
The  nun  was  there  no  longer,  but  instead, 
A  figure  with  a  circle  round  its  head, 
A  rina;  of  glory  ;  and  a  face,  so  meek, 
So  soft,  so  tender.    .    .    .    Angela  strove  to  speak, 
And  stretched  her  hands  out,  crying,   "  Mary  mild, 
Mother  of  mercy,  help  me  !  —  help  your  child  !  " 
And  Mary  answered,   "  From  thy  bitter  past, 
Welcome,  my  child  !  O,  welcome  home  at  last ! 
I  filled  thy  place.     Thy  flight  is  known  to  none, 
For  all  thy  daily  duties  I  have  done  ; 
Gathered  thy  flowers,  and  prayed,  and  sung,  and 

slept ; 
Didst  thou  not  know,  poor  child,  thy  place  was  Jxptt 
Kind  hearts  arc  here  ;  yet  would  the  tenderest  one 
Have  limits  to  its  mercy  :   God  has  none. 
And  man's  forgiveness  may  he  true  and  sweet, 
But  yet  he  stoops  to  give  it.     More  complete 
Is  Love  that  lays  forgiveness  at  thy  feet, 
And  pleads  with  thee  to  raise  it.      Only  Heaven 
Means  crowned,  not  vanquished,  when  it  says,  '  For- 
given ! ' " 


1 9o  A  LEGEND    OF  PROVENCE. 

Back  hurried  Sister  Monica ;  but  where 
Was  the  poor  beggar  she  left  lying  there  * 
Gone ;  and  she  searched  in  vain,  and  sought  the  placft 
For  that  wan  woman,  with  the  piteous  face  : 
But  only  Angela  at  the  gateway  stood, 
Laden  with  hawthorn  blossoms  from  the  wood. 
And  never  did  a  day  pass  by  again, 
But  the  old  poitrcss,  with  a  sigh  of  pain, 
Would  sorrow  for  her  loitering  :  with  a  prayer 
That  the  poor  beggar,  in  her  wild  despair, 
Might  not  have  come  to  any  ill ;  and  when 
She  ended,  "  God  forgive  her  !  "  humbly  then 
Did  Angela  bow  her  head,  and  say,  "  Amen  !  " 
How  pitiful  her  heart  was  !  all  could  trace 
Something  that  dimmed  the  brightness  of  her  face 
After  that  day,  which  none  had  seen  before  ; 
Not  trouble  —  but  a  shadow  —  nothing  more. 

Years  passed  away.     Then,  one  dark  day  of  dread 
Saw  all  the  Sisters  kneeling  round  a  bed, 
Where  Angela  lay  dying  ;  every  breath 
Struggling  beneath  the  heavy  hand  of  death. 
But  suddenly  a  flush  lit  up  her  cheek, 
She  raised  her  wan  right  hand,  and  strove  to  speak. 
In  sorrowing  love  they  listened  ;  not  a  sound 
Or  sigh  disturbed  the  utter  silence  round. 
The  very  taper's  flames  were  scarcely  stirred, 
In  such  hushed  awe  the  sisters  knelt  and  heard. 
And  through  that  silence  Angela  told  her  life  : 
Her  sin,  her  flight ;  the  sorrow  and  the  strife, 
And  the  return  ;  and  then  clear,  low,  and  calm, 
"  Praise  God  for  me,  my  sisters  "  ;  and  the  psalm 
Rang  up  to  heaven,  far  and  clear  and  wide, 
Again,  and  yet  again,  then  sank  and  died ; 


V 

A  LEGEND    OF  PROVENCE.  191 

While  her  white  Aire  had  such  a  smile  of  peace, 
They  saw  she  never  heard  the  music  cease ; 
And  weeping  sisters  laid  her  in  her  tomb, 
Crowned  with  a  wreath  of  perfumed  hawthorn  bloom. 

And  thus  the  Legend  ended.     It  may  be 
Something  is  hidden  in  the  mystery, 
Ijici  les  the  lesson  of  God's  pardon  shown, 
Never  enough  believed,  or  asked,  or  known. 
Have  we  not  all,  amid  life's  petty  strife, 
Soma  pure  ideal  of  ti  noble  life 
That  once  seemed  possible  1     Did  we  not  hear 
The  flutter  of  its  wings,  and  feel  it  near, 
And  just  within  our  reach  ?     It  was.     And  yet 
We  lost  it  in  this  daily  jar  and  fret, 
And  now  lire  idle  in  a  vague  regret. 
But  still  our  plzcz  is  kept,  and  it  will  wait, 
Heady  for  na  to  fill  it,  soon  or  late  : 
No  stav  ii  ever  lost  we  once  have  seen, 
We  always  may  be  what  we  might  have  heen. 
Since  Good,  though  only  thought,  has  life  and  breath, 
God's  life  —  can  always  be  redeemed  from  death; 
And  evil,  in  its  nature,  is  decay, 
And  any  hour  can  blot  it  all  away  ; 
The  hopes  that  lost  in  some  far  distance  seem, 
May  be  the  truer  life,  and  this  the  dream. 


191 


ENVY. 


ENVY. 


E  was  the  first  always:  Fortune 
Shone  bright  in  his  face. 
I  fought  for  years  ;  with  no  effort 
He  conquered  the  place : 
my  feet  were  all  bleeding. 
But  he  won  the  race. 


Spite  of  his  many  successes, 
Men  loved  him  the  same ; 

My  one  pale  ray  of  good  fortune 
Met  scoffing  and  blame. 

When  we  erred,  they  gave  him  pity. 
But  me  —  only  shame. 

My  home  was  still  in  the  shadow, 

His  lay  in  the  sun  : 
I  longed  in  vain  :  what  he  asked  for 

It  straightway  was  done. 
Once  I  staked  all  my  heart's  treasure. 

"We  played  —  and  he  won. 

Yes ;  and  just  now  I  have  seen  him. 

Cold,  smiling,  and  blest, 
Laid  in  his  coffin.     God  help  me ! 

While  he  is  at  rest, 
I  am  cursed  still  to  live  :  —  even 

Dewlj  loved  him  the  best. 


Ml 


OVER    THE  MOUNTAIN.  193 


OVER   THE    MOUNTAIN. 

IKE  dreary  prison  walls 

The  stern,  gray  mountains  rise, 
Until  their  topmost  crags 
Touch  the  far  gloomy  skies ; 
One  steep  and  narrow  path 

Winds  up  the  mountain's  crest, 
And  from  our  valley  leads 
Out  to  the  golden  West. 

I  dwell  here  in  content, 

Thankful  for  tranquil  days ; 
And  yet  my  eyes  grow  dim, 

As  still  I  gaze  and  gaze 
Upon  that  mountain  pass, 

That  leads  —  or  so  it  seems  — 
To  some  far  happy  land, 

Known  in  a  world  of  dreams. 

And  as  I  watch  that  path 

Over  the  distant  hill, 
A  foolish  longing  comes 

My  heart  and  soul  to  fill, 
A  painful,  strange  desire 

To  break  some  weary  bond ; 
A  vague  unuttered  wish 

For  what  might  he  beyond ! 

In  that  far  world  unknown, 

Over  that  distant  hill, 
May  dwell  the  loved  and  lost, 

Lost  —  yet  beloved  still ; 

»3 


i94  BEYOND. 

I  have  a  yearning  hope, 

Half  longing,  and  half  pain, 

That  by  that  mountain  pass 
They  may  return  again. 

Space  may  keep  friends  apart, 

Death  has  a  mighty  thrall ; 
There  is  another  gulf 

Harder  to  cross  than  all ; 
Yet  watching  that  far  road, 

My  heart  beats  full  and  fast: 
If  they  should  come  once  more, 

If  they  should  come  at  last ! 

See,  down  the  mountain  side 

The  silver  vapors  creep  ; 
They  hide  the  rocky  cliffs, 

They  hide  the  craggy  steep, 
They  hide  the  narrow  path 

That  comes  across  the  hill :  — 
O  foolish  longing,  cease, 

O  beating  Heart,  be  still ! 


BEYOND. 

||E  must  not  doubt,  or  fear,  or  drf  ,d,  that 
love  for  life  is  only  given, 
And  that  the  calm  and  sainted  dead  will 
meet  estranged  and  cold  in  heaven  :  — ■ 
O,  Love  were  poor  and  vain  indeed,  based  on  60 
harsh  and  stern  a  creed. 


BEYOND.  195 

True  that  this  earth  must  pass  away,  with  all  tho 
starry  worlds  of  light, 

With  all  the  glory  of  the  day,  and  calmer  tender- 
ness of  night ; 

For  in  that  radiant  home  can  shine  alone  the 
immortal  and  divine. 

Earth's  lower  things  — her  pride,  her  fame,  her 
science,  learning,  wealth,  and  power  — 

Slow  growths  that  through  long  ages  came,  or 
fruits  of  some  convulsive  hour, 

Whose  very  memory  must  decay  —  Heaven  is  too 
pure  for  such  as  they. 

They  arc  complete  :  their  work  is  done.     So  let 

them  sleep  in  endless  rest. 
Love's  life  is  only  here  begun,  nor  is,  nor  can  be, 

fully  blest ; 
It   has   no    room  to  spread  its  wings,  amid  this 

crowd  of  meaner  things. 

Just  for  the  very  shadow  thrown  upon  its  sweet- 
ness here  below, 

The  cross  that  it  must  bear  alone,  and  bloody 
baptism  of  woe, 

Crowned  and  completed  through  its  pain,  we  know 
that  it  shall  rise  again. 

So  if  its  flame  burn  pure  and  bright,  here,  where 

our  air  is  dark  and  dense, 
And  nothing  in  this  world  of  night  lives  with  a 

living  so  intense  ; 
When  it  shall   reach  its  home   at   length  —  how 

bright  its  light  !  how  strong  its  strength ! 


196  A    WARNING. 

And  while  the  vain  weak  loves  of  earth  (for  such 

base  counterfeits  abound) 
Shall  perish  with  whai,   gave    them  birth  —  their 

graves  are  green  and  fresh  around, 
No   funeral  song  shall  need  to  rise  for   the  true- 

Love  that  never  dies. 

If  in  my  heart  I  now  could  fear  that,  risen  again, 

we  should  not  know 
What  was  our  Life  of  Life  when  here,  —  the  hearts 

we  loved  so  much  below,  — 
I  would  arise  this  very  day,  and  cast  so  poor  a 

thing  away. 

But  Love  is  no  such  soulless  clod  :  living,  perfected 

it  shall  rise 
Transfigured  in  the  light  of  God,  and  giving  glory 

to  the  skies : 
And  that  which    makes   this   life  so   sweet  shall 

render  Heaven's  joy  complete. 


A   WARNING. 

LACE  your  hands  in  mine,  dear, 
With  their  rose-leaf  touch: 
If  you  heed  my  warning, 
It  will  spare  you  much. 


Ah  !  with  just  such  smiling 

Unbelieving  eyes, 
Years  ago  I  heard  it :  — 

You  shall  be  more  wise. 


A  WARNING.  197 

You  have  one  great  treasure, 

Joy  for  all  your  life ; 
Do  not  let  it  perish 

In  one  reckless  strife. 

Do  not  venture  all,  child, 

In  one  frail,  weak  heart; 
So,  through  any  shipwreck, 

You  may  save  a  part. 

"Where  your  soul  is  tempted 

Most  to  trust  your  fate, 
There,  with  double  caution, 

Linger,  fear,  and  wait. 

Measure  all  you  give,  still 

Counting  what  you  take  ; 
Love  for  love  :  so  placing 

Each  an  equal  stake. 

Treasure  love ;  though  readj 

Still  to  live  without. 
In  your  fondest  trust,  keep 

Just  one  thread  of  doubt. 

Build  on  no  to-morrow; 

Love  has  but  to-day  : 
If  the  links  seem  slackening, 

Cut  the  bond  away. 

Trust  no  prayer  nor  promise ; 

Words  are  grains  of  sand  : 
To  keep  your  heart  unbroken, 

Hold  it  in  your  hand. 


198  MAXIMUS. 

That  your  love  may  finish 

Calm  as  it  begun, 
Learn  this  lesson  better, 

Dear,  than  I  have  done. 

Years  hence,  perhaps,  this  warning 

You  shall  give  again, 
In  just  the  self-same  words,  dear, 

And — just  as  much  —  in  vain. 


MAXIMUS. 

ANY,  if  God  should  make  them  kings, 
Might  not  disgrace  the  throne  He  gave; 
How  few  who  could  as  well  fulfil 
The  holier  office  of  a  slave  ! 


I  hold  him  great  who,  for  Love's  sake, 
Can  give,  with  generous,  earnest  will,  — 

Yet  he  who  takes  for  Love's  sweet  sake, 
I  think  I  hold  more  generous  still. 

I  prize  the  instinct  that  can  turn 

From  vain  pretence  with  proud  disdain; 

Yet  more  I  prize  a  simple  heart 
Paying  credulity  with  pain. 

I  bow  before  the  noble  mind 

That  freely  some  great  wrong  forgives; 
Yet  nobler  is  the  one  forgiven, 

Who  bears  that  burden  well,  and  lives. 


OP  TIM  US.  199 

It  may  be  hard  to  gain,  and  still 
To  keep  a  lowly  steadfast  heart ; 

Yet  he  who  loses  has  to  till 
A  harder  and  a  truer  part. 

Glorious  it  is  to  wear  the  crown 
Of  a  deserved  and  pure  success ;  — 

He  who  knows  how  to  fail  has  won 
A  Crown  whose  lustre  is  not  less. 

Great  may  he  be  who  can  command 
And  rule  with  just  and  tender  sway ; 

Yet  is  diviner  wisdom  taught 
Better  by  him  who  can  obey. 

Blessed  are  those  who  die  for  God, 

And  earn  the  Martyr's  crown  of  light ; 

Yet  he  who  lives  for  God  may  be 
A  greater  Conqueror  in  His  sight. 


OPTIMUS. 

HERE  is  a  deep  and  subtle  snare 
Whose  sure  temptation  hardly  fails. 
Which,  just  because  it  looks  so  fair, 
Only  a  noble  heart  assails. 


So  all  the  more  we  need  be  strong 
Against  this  false  and  seeming  Right ; 
Which  none  the  less  is  deadly  wrong, 
Because  it  glitters  clothed  in  light. 


200  OP  TIM  VS. 

"When  duties  unfulfilled  remain, 
Or  noble  works  are  left  unplanned, 
Or  when  great  deeds  cry  out  in  vain 
On  coward  heart  and  trembling  hand,  — 

Then  will  a  seeming  Angel  speak  :  — 
"  The  hours  arc  fleeting  —  great  the  need  - 
If  thou  art  strong  and  others  weak, 
Thine  be  the  effort  and  the  deed. 

"Deaf  are  their  ears  who  ought -to  hear; 
Idle  their  hands,  and  dull  their  soul ; 
While  sloth,  or  ignorance,  or  fear, 
Fetters  them  with  a  blind  control. 

"  Sort  thou  the  tangled  web  aright; 
Take  thou  the  toil,  take  thou  the  pain: 
For  fear  the  hour  begin  its  flight, 
While  Right  and  Duty  plead  in  vain." 

And  now  it  is  I  bid  thee  pause, 
Nor  let  this  Tempter  bend  thy  will : 
There  are  diviner,  truer  laws 
That  teach  a  nobler  lesson  still. 

Learn  that  each  duty  makes  its  claim 
Upon  one  soul :  not  each  on  all. 
How,  if  God  speaks  thy  brother's  name, 
Dare  thou  make  answer  to  the  call  ? 

The  greater  peril  in  the  strife, 
The  less  this  evil  should  be  done; 
For  as  in  battle,  so  in  life, 
Danger  and  honor  still  are  one. 


A  LOST  CHORD.  vat 

Arouse  him  then  :  —  this  is  thy  part : 
Show  him  the  claim  ;  point  out  the  need  ; 
And  nerve  his  arm,  and  cheer  his  heart ; 
Then  stand  aside,  and  say,  "  God  speed  !  " 

Smooth  thou  his  path  ere  it  is  trod ; 
Burnish  the  arms  that  he  must  wield ; 
And  pray,  with  all  thy  strength,  that  God 
May  crown  him  Victor  of  the  field. 

And  then,  I  think,  thy  soul  shall  feel 
A  nohler  thrill  of  true  content, 
Than  if  presumptuous,  eager  zeal 
Had  seized  a  crown  for  others  meant. 

And  even  that  very  deed  shall  shine 
In  mystic  sense,  divine  and  true, 
More  wholly  and  more  purely  thine  — 
Because  it  is  another's  too. 


A  LOST  CHORD. 

EATED  one  day  at  the  Organ, 
I  was  weary  and  ill  at  ease, 
And  pay  fingers  wandered  idly 
Over  the  noisy  keys. 


I  do  not  know  what  I  was  playing, 
Or  what  I  was  dreaming  then; 

But  I  struck  one  chord  of  music, 
Like  the  sound  of  a  great  Amen. 


fcoa  TOO  LATE. 

It  flooded  the  crimson  twilight, 

Like  the  close  of  an  Angel's  Psalm, 

And  it  lay  on  my  fevered  spirit 
With  a  touch  of  infinite  calm. 

It  quieted  pain  and  sorrow, 
Like  love  overcoming  strife  ; 

It  seemed  the  harmonious  echo 
From  our  discordant  life. 

It  linked  all  perplexed  meanings 

Into  one  perfect  peace, 
And  trembled  away  into  silenco 

As  if  it  were  loth  to  cease. 

I  have  sought,  but  I  seek  it  vainly, 
That  one  lost  chord  divine, 

That  came  from  the  soul  of  the  Organ, 
And  entered  into  mine. 

It  may  be  that  Death's  bright  angel 
"Will  speak  in  that  chord  again, 

It  may  be  that  only  in  Heaven 
I  shall  hear  that  grand  Amen 


TOO  LATE. 


mm 


USH!  speak  low;  tread  softly} 
Draw  the  sheet  aside ;  — 
Yes,  she  does  look  peaceful; 
"With  that  smile  she  died. 


TOO  LATE.  403 

Pet  stern  want  and  sorrow 

Even  now  you  trace 
On  the  wan,  worn  features 

Of  the  still  white  face. 

Restless,  helpless,  hopeless, 

Was  her  bitter  part ;  — 
Now  —  how  still  the  Violeta 

Lie  upon  her  Heart ! 

She  who  toiled  and  labored 

For  her  daily  bread  ; 
See  the  velvet  hangings 

Of  this  stately  bed. 

Yes,  they  did  forgive  her ; 

Brought  her  home  at  last ; 
Strove  to  cover  over 

Their  relentless  past. 

All,  they  would  have  given 
Wealth,  and  home,  and  pride. 

To  see  her  just  look  happy 
Once  before  she  died ! 

They  strove  hard  to  please  her, 

But,  when  death  is  near, 
All  you  know  is  deadened, 

Hope,  and  joy,  and  fear. 

And  besides,  one  sorrow 

Deeper  still  —  one  pain 
Was  beyond  them  :  healing 

Came  to-day  —  in  vain  1 


a©4  TOO  LATE. 

If  she  had  hut  lingered 
Just  a  few  hours  more ; 

Or  had  tin's  letter  reached  her 
Just  one  day  before  ! 

I  can  almost  pity 

Even  him  to-day ; 
Though  he  let  this  anguish 

Eat  her  heart  away. 

Yet  she  never  blamed  him :  — 
One  day  you  shall  know 

IIow  this  sorrow  happened  ; 
It  was  long  ago. 

I  have  read  the  letter ; 

Many  a  weary  year, 
Eor  one  word  she  hungered,  — 

There  are  thousands  here. 

If  she  could  hut  hear  it, 
Could  but  understand ; 

See,  —  I  put  the  letter 
In  her  cold  white  hand. 

Even  these  words,  so  longed  for, 
Do  not  stir  her  rest ; 

Well,  I  should  not  murmur, 
For  God  judges  best. 

She  needs  no  more  pity,  — 
But  I  mourn  his  fate, 
,    When  he  hears  his  letter 
Came  a  day  too  late. 


THE  REQUITAL.  205 


THE  REQUITAL. 

OUD  roared  the  Tempest, 
Fast  fell  the  sleet ; 
A  little  Child  Angel 
Passed  down  the  street, 
With  trailing  pinions, 
And  weary  feet. 

The  moon  was  hidden ; 

No  stars  were  bright ; 
So  she  could  not  shelter 

In  heaven  that  night, 
For  the  Angels'  ladders 

Are  rays  of  light. 

She  beat  her  wings 
At  each  window-pane, 

And  pleaded  for  shelter, 
But  all  in  vain  :  — 

"  Listen,"  they  said, 
"  To  the  pelting  rain !  " 

She  sobbed,  as  the  laughter 
And  mirth  grew  higher, 

"  Give  me  rest  and  shelter 
Beside  your  fire, 

And  I  will  give  you 
Your  heart's  desire." 

The  dreamer  sat  watching 
His  embers  gleam, 


ao6  THE  REQUITAL. 

While  his  heart  was  floating 
Down  hope's  bright  stream; 

...  So  he  wove  her  wailing 
Into  his  dream. 

The  worker  toiled  on, 
For  his  time  was  brief; 

The  mourner  was  nursing 
Her  own  pale  grief: 

They  heard  not  the  promise 
That  brought  relief. 

But  fiercer  the  Tempest 

Rose  than  before, 
When  the  Angel  paused 

At  a  humble  door, 
And  asked  for  shelter 

And  help  once  more. 

A  weary  woman, 

Pale,  worn,  and  thin, 

With  the  brand  upon  her 
Of  want  and  sin, 

Heard  the  Child  Angel 
And  took  her  in. 

Took  her  in  gently, 

And  did  her  best 
To  dry  her  pinions  ; 

And  made  her  rest 
With  tender  pity 

Upon  her  breast. 

-  When  the  eastern  morning 
Grew  bright  and  red, 


RET  URN  ED  —  "  MISSING."  107 

Up  the  first  sunbeam 

The  Angel  fled ; 
Having  kissed  the  woman 

And  left  her  —  dead. 


RETURNED  —  «  MISSING." 

(five  years  after.) 

ES,  I  was  sad  and  anxious, 
But  now,  dear,  I  am  gay; 
I  know  that  it  is  wisest 
To  put  all  hope  away  :  — 
Thank  God  that  I  have  done  so, 
And  can  be  calm  to-day ! 

For  hope  deferred  —  you  know  it  — 
Once  made  my  heart  so  sick : 

Now,  I  expect  no  longer ; 
It  is  but  the  old  trick 

Of  hope,  that  makes  me  tremble, 
And  makes  my  heart  beat  quick. 

All  day  I  sit  here  calmly  ; 

Not  as  I  did  before, 
Watching  for  one  whose  footstep 

Comes  never,  never  more.  .  .  . 
Hush !  was  that  some  one  passing, 

Who  paused  beside  the  door? 

For  years  I  hung  on  chances, 
Longing  for  just  one  word; 


ao8  RETURNED  — "MISSING.** 

At  last  I  feel  it :  —  silence 

Will  never  more  be  stirred.  .  ,  . 

Tell  me  once  more  that  rumor 
You  fancied  you  had  heard. 

Life  has  more  tilings  to  dwell  on 
Than  just  one  useless  pain, 

Useless  and  past  forever  ; 
But  noble  tilings  remain, 

And  wait  us  all :  .  .  .  you  too,  dear, 
Do  you  think  hope  quite  vain  ? 

All  others  have  forgotten, 
'T  is  right  I  should  forget. 

Nor  live  on  a  keen  longing 

Which  shadows  forth  regret :  .  >  < 

Are  not  the  letters  coming  » 
The  sun  is  almost  set. 

Now  that  my  restless  legion 
Of  hopes  and  fears  is  fled, 

Reading  is  joy  and  comfort  .... 
....  This  very  day  I  read, 

O,  such  a  strange  returning 

Of  one  whom  all  thought  dead ! 

Not  that  I  dream  or  fancy, 
You  know  all  that  is  past ; 

Eartli  has  no  hope  to  give  me, 
And  yet  —  Time  flies  so  fast 

That  all  but  the  impossible 
Might  be  brought  back  at  last. 


IN  THE   WOOD.  Z09 


IN   THE   WOOD. 

N  the  wood  where  shadows  are  deepest 
From  the  branches  overhead, 
Where  the  wild  wood-strawberries  cluster, 
And  the  softest  moss  is  spread, 
I  met  to-day  with  a  fairy, 

And  I  followed  her  where  she  led. 

Some  magical  words  she  uttered, 

I  alone  could  understand, 
For  the  sky  grew  bluer  and  brighter ; 

While  there  rose  on  cither  hand 
The  cloudy  walls  of  a  palace, 

That  was  built  in  Fairy-land. 

And  I  stood  in  a  strange  enchantment ; 

I  had  known  it  all  before  : 
In  my  heart  of  hearts  was  the  magic 

Of  days  that  will  come  no  more, 
The  magic  of  joy  departed, 

That  Time  can  never  restore. 

That  never,  ah,  never,  never, 

Never  again  can  be  :  — 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  powerful  fairy 

Built  up  this  palace  for  me  ? 
It  was  only  a  little  white  Violet 

I  found  at  the  root  of  a  tree. 


14 


2IO  TWO  WORLDS. 


TWO  WORLDS- 

OD'S  world  is  bathed  in  beauty, 
God's  world  is  steeped  in  light ; 
It  is  the  self-same  glory 

That  makes  the  day  so  bright. 
Which  thrills  the  earth  with  music. 
Or  hangs  the  stars  in  night. 

Hid  in  earth's  mines  of  silver, 
Floating  on  clouds  above,  — 

Ringing  in  Autumn's  tempest, 
Murmured  by  every  dove,  — 

One  thought  fills  God's  creation, 
His  own  great  name  of  Love ! 

In  God's  world  Strength  is  lovely, 

And  so  is  Beauty  strong, 
And  Light —  God's  glorious  shadow  — 

To  both  great  gifts  belong ; 
And  they  all  melt  into  sweetness, 

And  fill  the  earth  with  Song. 

Above  God's  world  bends  Heaven, 
With  day's  kiss  pure  and  bright, 

Or  folds  her  still  more  fondly 
In  the  tender  shade  of  night ; 

And  she  casts  back  Heaven's  sweetness, 
In  fragrant  love  and  light. 

God's  world  has  one  great  echo ; 

Whether  calm  blue  mists  are  curled. 


TWO    WORLDS.  an 

Or  lingering  dew-drops  quiver, 

Or  red  storms  are  unfurled ; 
The  same  deep  love  is  throbbing 

Through  the  great  heart  of  God's  world. 

Man's  world  is  Mack  and  blighted, 
Steeped  through  with  self  and  sin  ; 

And  should  his  feeble  purpose 
Some  feeble  good  begin, 

The  work  is  marred  and  tainted 
By  Leprosy  within. 

Man's  world  is  bleak  and  bitter; 

Wherever  he  has  trod, 
He  spoils  the  tender  beauty 

That  blossoms  on  the  sod, 
And  blasts  the  loving  Heaven 

Of  the  great,  good  world  of  God. 

There  Strength  on  coward  weakness 

In  cruel  might  will  roll ; 
Beauty  and  Joy  arc  cankers 

That  eat  away  the  soul ; 
And  Love  —  0  God,  avenge  it  — 

The  plague-spot  of  the  whole. 

Man's  world  is  Pain  and  Terror ; 

He  found  it  pure  and  fair, 
And  wove  in  nets  of  sorrow 

The  golden  summer  air. 
Black,  hideous,  cold,  and  dreary, 

Man's  curse,  not  God's,  is  there. 

And  yet  God's  world  is  speaking : 
Man  will  not  hear  it  call ; 


ai2  A  NEW  MOTHER. 

But  listens  where  the  echoes 
Of  his  own  discords  fall, 

Then  clamors  back  to  Heaven 
That  God  has  done  it  all. 

O  God,  man's  heart  is  darkened, 
He  will  not  understand  ! 

Show  him  Thy  cloud  and  fire ; 
And,  with  Thine  own  right  hand, 

Then  lead  him  through  his  desert, 
Back  to  Thy  HotyLand  ! 


A  NEW  MOTHER. 


"WAS  with  my  lady  when  she  died  : 
I  it  was  who  guided  her  weak  hand 
For  a  blessing  on  each  little  head, 
Laid  her  baby  by  her  on  the  bed, 
Heard  the  words  they  could  not  understand. 

And  I  drew  them  round  my  knee  that  night, 
Hushed  their  childish  glee,  and  made  them  say 
They  would  keep  her  words  with  loving  tears, 
They  would  not  forget  her  dying  fears 
Lest  the  thought  of  her  should  fade  away. 

I,  who  guessed  what  her  last  dread  had  been, 
Made  a  promise  to  that  still,  cold  face, 
That  her  children's  hearts,  at  any  cost, 
Should  be  with  the  mother  they  had  lost, 
When  a  stranger  came  to  take  her  place. 


A  NEW  MOTIIER.  213 

And  1  knew  so  much !  for  I  had  lived 
With  my  lady  since  her  childhood  :  known 
What  her  young  and  happy  days  had  been, 
And  the  grief  no  other  eyes  had  seen 
I  had  watched  and  sorrowed  for  alone. 

Ah  !  she  once  had  such  a  happy  smile ! 

I  had  known  how  sorely  she  was  tried  : 

Six  short  years  before,  her  eyes  were  bright 
As  her  little  blue-eyed  May's  that  night, 

When  she  stood  by  her  dead  mother's  side. 

No,  I  will  not  say  he  was  unkind ; 

But  she  had  been  used  to  love  and  praise. 

He  was  somewhat  grave,  — perhaps,  in  truth, 
Could  not  weave  her  joyous,  smiling  youth 

Into  all  his  stern  and  serious  ways. 

She,  who  should  have  reigned  a  blooming  flower, 
First  in  pride  and  honor,  as  in  grace,  — 
She,  whose  will  had  once  ruled  all  around, 
Queen  and  darling  of  us  all,  —  •  she  found 
Change  indeed  iu  that  cold,  stately  place. 

Yet  she  would  not  blame  him,  even  to  me, 

Though  she  often  sat  and  wept  alone ; 
But  she  could  not  hide  it  near  her  death, 
When  she  said  with  her  last  struggling  breath, 

"  Let  my  babies  still  remain  my  own  !  " 

I  it  was  who  drew  the  sheet  aside, 
When  he  saw  his  dead  wife's  face.     That  test 
Seemed  to  strike  right  to  his  heart.     He  said, 
In  a  strange,  low  whisper,  to  the  dead, 
"  God  knows,  love,  I  did  it  for  the  best !  '' 


ai4  A  NEW  MOTHER. 

And  he  wept — O  yes,  I  will  be  just  — 
When  I  brought  the  children  to  him  there, 

Wondering  sorrow  in  their  baby  eyes  ; 

And  he  soothed  them  with  his  fond  replies. 
Bidding  me  give  double  love  and  care. 

Ah,  I  loved  them  well  for  her  dear  sake: 

Little  Arthur,  with  his  serious  air  ; 

May,  with  all  her  mother's  pretty  ways, 
Blushing,  and  at  any  word  of  praise 

Shaking  out  her  sunny  golden  hair. 

And  the  little  one  of  all  —  poor  child  ! 

She  had  cost  that  dear  and  precious  life. 
Once  Sir  Arthur  spoke  my  lady's  name, 
When  the  baby's  gloomy  christening  came, 

And  he  called  her  "  Olga  —  like  my  wife  !  " 

Save  that  time,  he  never  spoke  of  her : 
He  grew  graver,  sterner,  every  day ; 

And  the  children  felt  it,  for  they  dropped 
Low  their  vo  ces,  and  their  laughter  stopped, 
While  he  stood  and  watched  them  at  their  play. 

No,  he  never  named  their  mother's  name. 
But  I  told  them  of  her  :  told  them  all 

She  had  been ;  so  gentle,  good,  and  bright ; 

And  I  always  took  them  every  night 
Where  her  picture  hung  in  the  great  hall. 

There  she  stood  :  white  daisies  in  her  hand. 

And  her  red  lips  parted  as  to  speak 
With  a  smile ;  the  blue  and  sunny  air 
Seemed  to  stir  her  floating  golden  hair. 

And  to  bring  a  faint  blush  on  her  cheek. 


A  NEW  MOTHER.  215 

Well,  so  time  passed  on  ;  a  year  was  gone, 
And  Sir  Arthur  had  been  much  away. 
Then  the  news  came  !  I  shed  many  tears 
When  I  saw  the  truth  of  all  my  fears 
Rise  before  me  on  that  bitter  day. 

Any  one  but  her  I  could  have  borne ! 

But  my  lady  loved  her  as  her  friend. 

Through  their  childhood  and  their  early  youth, 
How  she  used  to  count  upon  the  truth 

Of  this  friendship  that  would  never  end  ! 

Older,  graver  than  my  lady  was, 
Whose  young,  gentle  heart  on  her  relied, 

She  would  give  advice,  and  praise,  and  blame, 
And  my  lady  leant  on  Margaret's  name, 
As  her  dearest  comfort,  help,  and  guide. 

I  had  never  liked  her,  and  I  think 
That  my  lady  grew  to  doubt  her  too, 

Since  her  marriage  ;  for  she  named  her  less, 

Never  saw  her,  and  I  used  to  guess 
At  some  secret  wrong  I  never  knew. 

That  might  be  or  not.     But  now,  to  hear 
Siie  would  come  and  reign  here  in  her  stead, 
With  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  a  bride : 
Would  no  thought  reproach  her  in  her  pride 
With  the  silent  memory  of  the  dead  ? 

So,  the  day  came,  and  the  bells  rang  out, 

And  I  laid  the  children's  black  aside; 
And  I  held  each  little  trembling  hand, 
As  I  strove  to  make  them  understand 

They  must  greet  their  father's  new-made  bride. 


216  A  NEW  MOTHER. 

Ah,  Sir  Arthur  might  look  grave  and  stern, 
And  his  lady's  eyes  might  well  grow  dim, 
When  the  children  shrank  in  fear  away, — 
Little  Arthur  hid  his  face,  and  May 
Would  not  raise  her  eyes,  or  speak  to  him. 

When  Sir  Arthur  bade  them  greet  their  "  mother," 
I  was  forced  to  chide,  yet  proud  to  hear 
How  my  little  loving  May  replied, 
With  her  mother's  pretty  air  of  pride,  — 
"  Our  dear  mother  has  been  dead  a  year ! " 

Ah,  the  lady's  tears  might  well  fall  fast, 
As  she  kissed  them,  and  then  turned  away. 

She  might  strive  to  smile  or  to  forget, 

But  I  think  some  shadow  of  regret 
Must  have  risen  to  blight  her  wedding-day. 

She  had  some  strange  touch  of  self-reproach ; 

For  she  used  to  linger  day  by  day, 
By  the  nursery  door,  or  garden  gate, 
With  a  sad,  calm,  wistful  look,  and  wait 

Watching  the  three  children  at  their  play. 

But  they  always  shrank  away  from  her 
When  she  strove  to  comfort  their  alarms, 

And  their  grave,  cold  silence  to  beguile : 

Even  little  Olga's  baby-smile 
Quivered  into  tears  when  in  her  arms. 

I  could  never  chide  them  :  far  I  saw 
How  their  mother's  memory  grew  more  deep 
In  their  hearts.     Each  night  I  had  to  tell 
Stories  of  her  whom  I  loved  so  well 
When  a  child,  to  send  them  off  to  sleep. 


A  NEW  MOTHER.  zij 

But  Sir  Arthur —  0,  this  was  too  hard  !  — 
He,  who  had  been  always  stem  and  sad 
In  my  lady's  time,  seemed  to  rejoice 
Each  day  more ;  and  I  could  hear  his  voice 
Even,  sounding  younger  and  more  glad. 

He  might  perhaps  have  blamed  them,  but  his  wife 
Never  failed  to  take  the  children's  part  : 

She  would  stay  him  with  her  pleading  tone, 
Saying  she  would  strive,  and  strive  alone, 
Till  she  gained  each  little  wayward  heart. 

And  she  strove  indeed,  and  seemed  to  be 
Always  waiting  for  their  love,  in  vain  ; 

Yet,  when  May  had  most  her  mother's  look, 
Then  the  lady's  calm,  cold  accents  shook 
With  some  memory  of  reproachful  pain. 

Little  May  would  never  call  her  mother : 

So,  one  clay,  the  lady,  bending  low, 

Kissed  her  golden  curls,  and  softly  said, 
"  Sweet  one,  call  me  Margaret,  instead,— 

Your  dear  mother  used  to  call  me  so." 

She  was  gentle,  kind,  and  patient  too, 
Yet  in  vain  :  the  children  held  apart. 
Ah,  their  mother's  gentle  memory  dwelt 
Near  them,  and  her  little  orphans  felt 
She  had  the  first  claim  upon  their  heart. 

So  three  years  passed  ;  then  the  war  broke  out ; 

And  a  rumor  seemed  to  spread  and  rise ; 
First  we  guessed  what  sorrow  must  befall, 
Then  all  doubt  fled,  for  we  read  it  all 

In  the  depths  of  her  despairing  eyes. 


ai 8  A  NEW  MOTHER. 

Yes  ;  Sir  Arthur  had  been  called  away 
To  that  scene  of  slaughter,  fear,  and  strife,  — 
Now  he  seemed  to  know  with  double  pain 
The  cold,  bitter  gulf  that  must  remain 
To  divide  his  children  from  his  wife. 

Nearer  came  the  day  he  was  to  sail, 
Deeper  grew  the  coming  woe  and  fear, 
When,  one  night,  the  children  at  my  knee 
Knelt  to  say  their  evening  prayer  to  me, 
I  looked  up  and  saw  Sir  Arthur  near. 

There  they  knelt  with  folded  hands,  and  said 
Low,  soft  words  in  stammering  accents  sweet ; 
In  the  firelight  shone  their  golden  hair 
And  white  robes  :  my  darlings  looked  so  fair, 
With  their  little  bare  and  rosy  feet ! 

There  he  waited  till  their  low  "  Amen  !  "  — 
Stopped  the  rosy  lips  raised  for  "  Good  night ! "  — 
Drew  them  with  a  fond  clasp,  close  and  near, 
As  he  bade  them  stay  with  him,  and  hear 
Something  that  would  make  his  heart  more  light 

Little  Olga  crept  into  his  arms  ; 

Arthur  leant  upon  his  shoulder ;  May 
Knelt  beside  him,  with  her  earnest  eyes 
Lifted  up  in  patient,  calm  surprise,  — 

I  can  almost  hear  his  words  to-day. 

"  Yeai-s  ago,  my  children,  years  ago, 
When  your  mother  was  a  child,  she  came 
From  her  Northern  home,  and  here  she  met 
Love  for  love,  and  comfort  for  regret, 
In  one  early  friend,  —  you  know  her  name, 


A  NEW  MOTIIER.  219 

«  And  this  friend  —  a  few  years  older  —  gave 
Such  food  care,  such  love,  that  day  by  day 
The  new  home  grew  happy,  joy  complete, 
Studies  easier,  and  play  more  sweet, 
"While  all  childish  sorrows  passed  away. 

<<  And  your  mother  —  fragile,  like  my  May  — 
Leant  on  this  deep  love,  —  nor  leant  in  vain. 
Fo<-  this  friend  (strong,  generous,  noble  heart !) 
Gave  the  sweet,  and  took  the  bitter  part,  — 
Brought  her  all  the  joy,  and  kept  the  pain. 

"  Years  passed  on,  and  then  I  saw  them  first : 
It  was  hard  to  say  which  was  most  fair, 

Your  sweet  mother's  bright  and  blushing  face, 
Or  the  graver  Margaret's  stately  grace ; 
Golden  locks,  or  braided  raven  hair. 

"  Then  it  happened,  by  a  strange,  sad  fate, 
One  thought  entered  into  each  young  soul : 

Joy  for  one  —  if  for  the  other  pain ; 

Loss  for  one  —  if  for  the  other  gain  : 
One  must  lose,  and  one  possess  the  whole. 

"  And  so  this  —  this  — what  they  cared  for  —  came 
And  belonged  to  Margaret :  was  her  own. 
But  she  laid  the  gift  aside,  to  take 
Pain  and  sorrow  for  your  mother's  sake, 
And  none  knew  it  but  herself  alone. 

"  Then  she  travelled  far  away,  and  none 
The  strange  mystery  of  her  absence  knew. 
Margaret's  secret  thought  was  never  told : 
Even  your  mother  thought  her  changed  and  cold, 
And  for  many  years  I  thought  so  too. 


aao  A   NEW  MOTHER. 

«  She  was  gone  ;  and  then  your  mother  took 
That  poor  gift  which  Margaret  laid  aside  r 
Flower,  or  toy,  or  trinket,  matters  not : 
What  it  was  had  better  be  forgot  .  .  . 
It  was  just  then  she  became  my  bride. 

"  Now,  I  think  May  knows  the  hope  I  hare. 

Arthur,  darling,  can  you  guess  the  rest? 
Even  my  little  Olga  understands 
Great  gifts  can  be  given  by  little  hands, 

Since  of  all  gifts  Love  is  still  the  best. 

"  Margaret  is  my  dear  and  honored  wife, 
And  I  hold  her  so.     But  she  can  claim 

From  your  hearts,  dear  ones,  a  loving  debt 
I  can  neither  pay,  nor  yet  forget : 
You  can  give  it  in  your  mother's  name. 

"  Earth  spoils  even  Love,  and  here  a  shade 
On  the  purest,  noblest  heart  may  fall : 
Now  your  mother  dwells  in  perfect  light, 
She  will  bless  us,  I  believe,  to-night,  — 
She  is  happy  now,  and  she  knows  all." 

Next  day  was  farewell,  —  a  day  of  tears  ; 

Yet  Sir  Arthur,  as  he  rode  away, 

And  turned  back  to  sec  his  lady  stand 
With  the  children  clinging  to  her  hand, 

Looked  as  if  it  were  a  happy  day. 

Ah,  they  loved  her  soon !     The  little  one 

Crept  into  her  arms  as  to  a  nest ; 

Arthur  always  with  her  now ;  and  May 
Growing  nearer  to  her  every  day  :  — 

— Well,  I  loved  my  own  dear  lady  best. 


GIVE  PLACE.  221 


GIVE   PLACE. 

TARRY  Crowns  of  Heaven 
Set  in  azure  night ! 
Linger  yet  a  little 

Ere  you  hide  your  light :  — 
—  Nay  ;  let  Starlight  fade  away, 
Heralding  the  day  ! 

Snow-flakes  pure  and  spotless, 

Still,  O,  still  remain, 
Binding  dreary  winter, 

In  your  silver  chain  :  — 

—  Nay  ;  but  melt  at  once  and  bring 
Radiant  sunny  Spring ! 

Blossoms,  gentle  blossoms, 

Do  not  wither  yet ; 
Still  for  you  the  sun  shines, 

Still  the  dews  are  wet :  — 

—  Nay  ;  but  fade  and  wither  fast, 
Fruit  must  come  at  last ! 

Joy,  so  true  and  tender, 

Dare  you  not  abide  ? 
Will  you  spread  your  pinions, 

Must  you  leave  our  side  ? 

—  Nay  ;  an  Angel's  shining  grace 
Waits  to  lid  your  place  1 


aaz  MY  WILL. 


MY  WILL. 


pjINCE  I  liavc  no  lands  or  houses, 
And  no  hoarded  golden  store, 
What  can  I  leave  those  who  love  me 
When  they  sec  my  face  no  more  7 
Do  not  smile  ;  I  am  not  jesting, 

Though  my  words  sound  gay  and  light, 
Listen  to  me,  dearest  Alice, 
I  will  make  my  Will  to-night. 

First  for  Mahel,  —  who  will  never 

Let  the  dust  of  future  years 
Dim  the  thought  of  me,  but  keep  it 

Brighter  still  :   perhaps  with  tears. 
In  whose  eyes,  whate'er  I  glance  at, 

Touch,  or  praise,  will  always  shine, 
Through  a  strange  and  sacred  radiance, 

By  Love's  Charter,  wholly  mine  ; 
She  will  never  lend  to  others 

Slenderest  link  of  thought  I  claim, 
I  will,  therefore,  to  her  keeping 

Leave  my  memory  and  my  name. 

Bertha  will  do  truer  service 

To  her  kind  than  I  have  done, 
So  I  leave  to  her  young  spirit 

The  long  Work  I  have  begun. 
Well !  the  threads  are  tangled,  broken, 

And  the  colors  do  not  blend, 
She  will  bend  her  earnest  striving 

Both  to  finish  and  amend  : 


31 Y  WILL.  223 

And,  when  it  is  all  completed, 

Strong  with  care  and  rich  with  skill, 

Just  because  my  hands  began  it, 
She  will  love  it  better  still. 

Ruth  shall  have  my  dearest  token, 

The  one  link  I  dread  to  break, 
The  one  duty  that  I  live  for, 

She,  when  I  am  gone,  will  take. 
Sacred  is  the  trust  I  leave  her, 

Needing  patience,  prayer,  and  tears; 
I  have  striven  to  fulfil  it, 

As  she  knows,  these  many  years. 
Sometimes  hopeless,  faint,  and  weary, 

Yet  a  blessing  shall  remain 
With  the  task,  and  Ruth  will  prize  it, 

For  my  many  hours  of  pain. 

What  must  I  leave  you,  my  Alice  ? 

Nothing,  Love,  to  do  or  bear, 
Nothing  that  can  dim  your  blue  eyes 

With  the  slightest  cloud  of  care. 
I  will  leave  my  heart  to  love  you, 

With  the  tender  faith  of  old  ; 
Still  to  comfort,  warm,  and  light  you, 

Should  your  life  grow  dark  or  cold 
No  one  else,  my  child,  can  claim  it ; 

Though  you  find  old  scars  of  pain, 
They  were  only  wounds,  my  darling, 

There  is  not,  I  trust,  one  stain. 

Are  my  gifts  indeed  so  worthless 

Now  the  slender  sum  is  told  ? 
Well,  I  know  not :  years  may  bless  thoi* 

With  a  nobler  price  than  gold. 


224  '&ING  AND  SLAVE. 

Am  I  poor  ?  ah  no,  most  wealthy, 
Not  in  these  poor  gifts  you  take, 

But  in  the  true  hearts  that  tell  me 
You  will  keep  them  for  my  sake. 


KING   AND   SLAVE. 

F  in  my  soul,  clear, 

An  omen  should  dwell, 
Bidding  me  pause,  ere 
I  love  thee  too  well ; 
If  the  whole  circle 

Of  noble  and  wise, 
With  stern  forebodings, 
Between  us  should  rise ;  — 

I  will  tell  them,  dear, 

That  Love  reigns  —  a  King, 
Where  storms  cannot  reach  him, 

And  words  cannot  sting  ; 
He  counts  it  dishonor 

His  faith  to  recall ; 
He  trusts  ;  —  and  forever 

He  gives  —  and  gives  all ! 

I  will  tell  thee,  dear, 

That  Love  is  —  a  Slave, 
Who  dreads  thought  of  freedom, 

As  life  dreads  the  grave  ; 
And  if  doubt  or  peril 

Of  change  there  may  be, 
Such  fear  would  but  drive  him 

Still  nearer  to  thee  I 


A   CHANT.  225 

A   CHANT. 

"  Benedictus  qui  venil  in  nomine  Domini." 


HO  is  the  Anpel  that  comcth  1 
Life! 
Let  us  not  question  what  he  brings, 
Peace  or  Strife; 
Under  the  shade  of  his  mighty  wings, 
One  by  one, 
Are  his  secrets  told  ; 
One  by  one, 
Lit  by  the  rays  of  each  morning  sun, 
Shall  a  new  flower  its  petals  unfold, 
With  the  mystery  hid  in  its  heart  of  gold, 
We  will  arise  and  go  forth  to  greet  him, 

Singly,  gladly,  with  one  accord  ;  — 
"  Blessed  is  he  that  cometh 

In  the  name  of  the  Lord !  " 

ii. 

Who  is  the  Angel  that  cometh  ? 

Joy ! 
Look  at  lus  glittering  rainbow  wings,— 

No  alloy  . 
Lies  in  the  radiant  gifts  he  brings  ; 

Tender  and  sweet, 
He  is  come  to-day, 

Tender  and  sweet : 
While  chains  of  love  on  his  silver  feet 
Will  hold  him  in  lingering  fond  delay. 
But  greet  him  quickly,  he  will  not  stay, 

»5 


226  A    CHANT. 

Soon  he  will  leave  us  ;  but  though  for  others 

All  his  brightest  treasures  are  stored, — 
"  Blessed  is  he  that  cometh 

In  the  name  of  the  Lord  ! " 

in. 

Who  is  the  Angel  that  cometh  1 

Pain ! 
Let  us  arise  and  go  forth  to  greet  him  ; 

Not  in  vain 
Is  the  summons  come  for  us  to  meet  him ; 
He  will  stay, 
And  darken  our  sun  ; 
He  will  stay 
A  desolate  night,  a  weary  day. 

Since  in  that  shadow  our  work  is  done, 
And  in  that  shadow  our  crowns  are  won, 
Let  us  say  still,  while  his  bitter  chalice 
Slowly  into  our  hearts  is  poured,  — 
"  Blessed  is  he  that  cometh 

In  the  name  of  the  Lord ! " 

IV. 

Who  is  the  Angel  that  cometh  ? 

Death ! 
But  do  not  shudder  and  do  not  fear ; 

Hold  your  breath, 
For  a  kingly  presence  is  drawing  near. 
Cold  and  bright 
Is  his  flashing  steel, 
Cold  and  bright 
The  smile  that  comes  like  a  starry  light 
To  calm  the  terror  anr1  pricf  we  *eel ; 
He  comes  to  help  and  to  save  and  heal : 


DREAM-LIFE.  227 

Then  let  us,  baring  our  hearts  and  kneeling, 
Sing,  while  we  wait  this  Angel's  sword,  — 
«  Blessed  is  he  that  comcth 

In  the  name  of  the  Lord  !  " 


DREAM-LITE. 

ISTEN,  friend,  and  I  will  tell  you 
Why  I  sometimes  seem  so  glad, 
Then,  without  a  reason  changing, 
Soon  become  so  grave  and  sad. 

Half  my  life  I  live  a  beggar, 

Ragged,  helpless,  and  alone ; 
But  the  other  half  a  monarch, 

With  my  courtiers  round  my  throne. 

Half  my  life  is  full  of  sorrow, 
Half  of  joy,  still  fresh  and  new  ; 

One  of  these  lives  is  a  fancy, 
But  the  other  one  is  true. 

While  I  live  and  feast  on  gladness, 
Still  I  feel  the  thought  remain, 

This  must  soon  end,  —  nearer,  nearer, 
Comes  the  life  of  grief  and  pain. 

While  I  live  a  wretched  beggar, 
One  bright  hope  my  lot  can  cheer  ; 

Soon,  soon,  thou  shalt  have  thy  kingdom, 
Brighter  hours  are  drawing  near. 


»a8  REST. 

So  you  see  my  life  is  twofold, 
Half  a  pleasure,  half  a  grief ; 

Thus  all  joy  is  somewhat  tempered, 
And  all  sorrow  finds  relief. 

Which,  you  ask  me,  is  the  real  life, 
Which  the  dream,  —  the  joy,  or  woe  ? 

Hush,  friend  !  it  is  little  matter, 
And,  indeed  —  I  never  know. 


REST. 

jlPREAD,    spread   thy   silver   wings,    0 
Dove  ! 
And  seek  for  rest  by  land  and  sea, 
And  bring  the  tidings  back  to  me 
ilfor  thee  and  me  and  those  I  love. 

Look  how  my  Dove  soars  far  away ; 
Go  with  her,  heart  of  mine,  I  pray  ; 
Go  where  her  fluttering  silver  pinions 
Follow  the  track  of  the  crimson  day. 

Is  rest  where  cloudlets  slowly  creep, 

And  sobbing  winds  forget  to  grieve, 

And  quiet  waters  gently  heave, 

As  if  they  rocked  the  ship  to  sleep  ? 

Ah  no  !  that  southern  vapor  white 
Will  bring  a  tempest  ere  the  night, 
And  thunder  through  the  quiet  heaven, 
Lashing  the  sea  in  its  angry  might. 


It  EST.  229 

The  battle-field  lies  still  and  cold, 
While  stars  that  watch  in  silent  light 
Gleam  here  and  there  on  weapons  bright, 
In  weary  sleepers'  slackened  hold  ; 

Nay,  though  they  dream  of  no  alarm, 
One  bugle  sound  will  stir  that  calm, 
And  all  the  strength  of  two  great  nations, 
Eager  for  battle,  will  rise  and  arm. 

Pause  where  the  Pilgrims'  day  is  done, 

Where  scrip  and  stall'  aside  arc  laid, 

And,  resting  in  the  silent  shade, 

They  watch  the  slowly  sinking  sun. 

Ah  no  !  that  worn  and  weary  band 
Must  journey  long  before  they  stand, 
With  bleeding  feet,  and  hearts  rejoicing, 
Kissing  the  dust  of  the  Holy  Land. 

Then  find  a  soul  who  meets  at  last 

A  noble  prize  but  hard  to  gain, 

Or  joy  long  pleaded  for  in  vain, 

Now  sweeter  for  a  bitter  past. 

Ah  no  !  for  Time  can  rob  her  yet, 
And  even  should  cruel  Time  forget, 
Then  Death  will  come,  and,  unrelenting, 
Brand  her  with  sorrowful  long  regret. 

Seek  farther,  farther  yet,  0  Dove  ! 

Beyond  the  Land,  beyond  the  Sea, 

There  shall  be  rest  for  thee  and  me, 

For  thee  and  me  and  those  I  love. 
I  heard  a  promise  gently  fall, 
I  heard  a  far-off  Shepherd  call 
The  weary  and  the  broken-hearted, 
Promising  rest  unto  each  and  all. 


3o     THE  TYRANT  AND   TEE  CAPTIVE. 

It  is  not  marred  by  outward  strife, 

It  is  not  lost  in  calm  repose, 

It  heedeth  neither  joys  nor  woes, 

Is  not  disturbed  by  death  or  life  ; 

Through,  and  beyond  them,  lies  our  Eest 
Then  cease,  O  Heart,  thy  longing  quest ! 
And  thou,  my  Dove,  with  silver  pinions 
Flutter  again  to  thy  quiet  nest ! 


THE  TYEANT  AND  THE  CAPTIVE. 


^£0|T  was  midnight  when  I  listened, 
f jfmjH       And  1  heard  two  Voices  speak  ; 

ilJIpl   0ne  was  narsll>  ancl  stern,  and  cruel, 
And  the  other  soft  and  weak  : 


Yet  I  saw  no  Vision  enter, 

And  I  heard  no  steps  depart, 
Of  this  Tyrant  and  his  Captive,  .  .  . 

Fate  it  might  be  and  a  Heart. ' 

Thus  the  stern  Voice  spake  in  triumph :  — 

"  I  have  shut  your  life  away 
From  the  radiant  world  of  nature, 

And  the  perfumed  light  of  day. 
You,  who  loved  to  steep  your  spirit 

In  the  charm  of  Earth's  delight, 
See  no  glory  of  the  daytime, 

And  no  sweetness  of  the  night." 

But  the  soft  Voice  answered  calmly:  — 
"  Nay,  for  when  the  March  winds  bring 


TEE  TYRANT  AND  THE  CAPTIVE.  231 

Just  a  whisper  to  my  window, 
I  can  dream  the  rest  of  Spring ; 

And  to-day  I  saw  a  swallow 
Flitting  past  my  prison  bars, 

And  my  cell  has  just  one  corner 
Whence  at  night  I  see  the  stars." 

But  its  hitter  taunt  repeating, 

Cried  the  harsh  Voice :  —"Where  are  they, 
All  the  friends  of  former  hours, 

Who  forget  your  name  to-day  ? 
All  the  links  of  love  are  shattered, 

Which  you  thought  so  strong  before; 
And  your  very  heart  is  lonely, 

And  alone  since  loved  no  more." 

But  the  low  Voice  spoke  still  lower:  — 

"  Nay,  I  know  the  golden  chain 
Of  my  Love  is  purer,  stronger, 

For  the  cruel  fire  of  pain : 
They  remember  me  no  longer, 

But  I,  grieving  here  alone, 
Bind  their  souls  to  me  for  ever 

By  the  love  within  my  own." 

But  the  Voice  cried :  —  "  Once  remember 

You  devoted  soul  and  mind 
To  the  welfare  of  your  brethren, 

And  the  service  of  your  kind. 
Now,  what  sorrow  can  you  comfort  ? 

You,  who  lie  in  helpless  pain, 
With  an  impotent  compassion 

Fretting  out  your  life  in  vain." 


THE   CARVER'S  LESSON: 

"  Nay  "  ;  and  then  the  gentle  answer 

Rose  more  loud,  and  full,  and  clear : 
"  For  the  sake  of  all  my  brethren 

I  thank  God  that  I  am  here  ! 
Poor  had  been  my  Life's  best  efforts, 

Now  I  waste  no  thought  or  breath,  — 
For  the  prayer  of  those  who  suffer 

Has  the  strength  of  Love  and  Death." 


THE   CARVER'S  LESSON. 

RUST  me,  no  mere  skill  of  subtle  tracery, 
No  mere  practice  of  a  dexterous  hand, 
Will  suffice,  without  a  hidden  spirit, 
That  we  may,  or  may  not,  understand. 

And  those  quaint  old  fragments  that  are  left  us 
Have  their  power  in  this,  —  the  Carver  brought 

Earnest  care,  and  reverent  patience,  only 
Worthily  to  clothe  some  noble  thought. 

Shut  then  in  the  petals  of  the  flowers, 
Round  the  stems  of  all  the  lilies  twine, 

Hide  beneath  each  bird's  or  angel's  pinion, 
Some  wise  meaning  or  some  thought  divine. 

Place  in  stony  hands  that  pray  forever 

Tender  words  of  peace,  and  strive  to  wind 

Round  the  leafy  scrolls  and  fretted  niches 
Some  true,  loving  message  to  your  kind. 


TIIE  CARVER'S  LESSON.  233 

Some  will  praise,  some  blame,  and,  soon  forgetting. 
Come  and  go,  nor  even  pause  to  gaze  ; 

Only  now  and  then  a  passing  stranger 
Just  may  loiter  with  a  word  of  praise. 

But  I  think,  when  years  have  floated  onward, 
And  the  stone  is  pray,  and  dim,  and  old, 

And  the  hand  forgotten  that  has  carved  it, 
And  the  heart  that  dreamt  it  still  and  cold ; 

There  may  come  some  weary  soul,  o'erladen 
With  perplexed  struggle  in  his  brain, 

Or,  it  may  be,  fretted  with  life's  turmoil, 
Or  made  sore  with  some  perpetual  pain. 

Then,  I  think  those  stony  hands  will  open, 

And  the  gentle  lilies  overflow, 
With  the  blessing  and  the  loving  token 

That  you  hid  there  many  years  ago. 

And  the  tendrils  will  unroll,  and  teach  him 
How  to  solve  the  problem  of  his  pain ; 

And  the  birds'  and  angels'  wings  shake  downward 
Ou  his  heart  a  sweet  and  tender  rain. 

While  he  marvels  at  his  fancy,  reading 
Meaning  in  that  quaint  and  ancient  scroll, 

Little  guessing  that  the  loving  Carver 
Left  a  message  for  his  weary  soul. 


234  THREE  ROSES. 


THEEE  EOSES. 

UST  when  the  red  June  Roses  blow 
She  gave  me  one,  —  a  year  ago. 
A  Rose  whose  crimson  breath  revealed 
The  secret  that  its  heart  concealed, 
And  whose  half  shy,  half  tender  grace 
Blushed  back  upon  the  giver's  face. 
A  year  ago  —  a  year  ago  — 
To  hope  was  not  to  know. 

Just  when  the  red  June  Roses  blow 
I  plucked  her  one,  —  a  month  ago  : 
Its  half-blown  crimson  to  eclipse, 
I  laid  it  on  her  smiling  lips  ; 
The  balmy  fragrance  of  the  south 
Drew  sweetness  from  her  sweeter  mouth. 

Swiftly  do  golden  hours  creep, — 

To  hold  is  not  to  keep. 

The  red  June  Roses  now  are  past, 
This  very  day  I  broke  the  last,  — 
And  now  its  perfumed  breath  is  bid, 
With  her,  beneath  a  coffin-lid  ; 
There  will  its  petals  fall  apart, 
And  wither  on  her  icy  heart :  — 
At  three  red  Roses'  cost 
My  world  was  gained  and  lost. 


MY  PICTURE  GALLERY. 


235 


MY  PICTURE   GALLERY. 


OU  write   and    think  of  me,  my  friend, 
with  pity; 
While  you  are  basking  in   the  light  of 
Rome, 

Shut  up  within  the  heart  of  this  great  city, 
Too  busy  and  too  poor  to  leave  my  home. 

11. 

You  think  my  life  debarred  all  rest  or  pleasure, 
Chained  all  day  to  my  ledger  and  my  pen ; 
Too  sickly  even  to  use  my  little  leisure 
To  bear  me  from  the  strife  and  din  of  men. 


in. 

Well,  it  is  true ;  yet,  now  the  days  are  longer, 
At  sunset  I  can  lay  my  writing  down, 
And  slowly  crawl  (summer  has  made  me  stronger) 
Just  to  the  nearest  outskirt  of  the  town. 

IV. 

There  a  wide  Common,  blackened  though  and  dreary 
"With  factory  smoke,  spreads  outward  to  the  West  ; 
I  lie  down  on  the  parched-up  grass,  if  weary, 
Or  lean  against  a  broken  wall  to  rest. 


So  might  a  King,  turning  to  Arts'  rich  treasure, 
Ax  sv^ing,  when  the  cares  of  state  were  done. 


a36  MY  PICTURE  GALLERY. 

Enter  his  royal  gallery,  drinking  pleasure 
Slowly  from  each  great  picture,  one  by  one. 

VI. 

Towards  the  West  I  turn  my  weary  spirit, 
And  watch  my  pictures :  one  each  night  is  mine. 
Earth  and  my  soul,  sick  of  day's  toil,  inherit 
A  portion  of  that  luminous  peace  divine. 


VII. 

There  I  have  seen  a  sunset's  crimson  glory, 
Burn  as  if  earth  were  one  great  Altar's  blaze ; 
Or,  like  the  closing  of  a  piteous  story, 
Light  up  the  misty  world  with  dying  rays. 

VIII. 

There  I  have  seen  the  clouds,  in  pomp  and  splendor, 
Their  gold  and  purple  banners  all  unfurl ; 
There  I  have  watched  colors,  more  faint  and  tender 
Than  pure  and  delicate  tints  upon  a  pearl. 

IX. 

Skies  strewn  with  roses  fading,  fading  slowly, 
While  one  star  trembling  watched  the  daylight  die  j 
Or  deep  in  gloom  a  sunset,  hidden  wholly, 
Save  through  gold  rents  torn  in  a  violet  sky. 


Or  parted  clouds,  as  if  asunder  riven 
Ey  some  great  angel,  and  beyond  a  space 
Of  far-off  tranquil  light ;  the  gates  of  Heaven 
Will  lead  as  grandly  to  as  calm  a  place. 


MY  PICTURE  GALLERY.  237 

XI. 

Or  stern  dark  walls  of  cloudy  mountain  ranges 
Hid  all  the  wonders  that  we  knew  must  be ; 
While,  far  on  high,  some  little  white  clouds'  changes 
Revealed  the  glory  they  alone  could  see. 

XII. 

Or  in  wild  wrath  the  affrighted  clouds  lay  shattered, 
Like  treasures  of  the  lost  Hesperides, 
All  in  a  wealth  of  ruined  splendor  scattered, 
Save  one  strange  light  on  distant  silver  seas. 

XIII. 

"What  land  or  time  can  claim  the  Master  Painter, 
Whose  art  could  teach  him  half  such  gorgeous  dyes  ? 
Or  skill  so  rare,  hut  purer  hues  and  fainter 
Melt  every  evening  in  my  western  skies. 

XIV. 

So  there  I  wait,  until  the  shade  has  lengthened, 
And  night's  blue  misty  curtain  floated  down  ; 
Then,    with    my    heart    calmed,    and    my   spirit 

strengthened, 
I  crawl  once  more  back  to  the  sultry  town. 


xv. 

What  Monarch,  then,  has  nobler  recreations 
Than  mine  1     Or  where  the  great  and  classic  Land 
Whose  wealth  of  Art  delights  the  gathered  nations 
That  owns  a  Picture  Gallery  half  as  grand  ? 


238 


SENT   TO  HEAVEN. 


SENT  TO  HEAVEN. 

HAD  a  message  to  send  her, 

To  her  whom  my  soul  loved  best ; 

But  I  had  my  task  to  finish, 
And  she  was  gone  home  to  rest. 


To  rest  in  the  far  bright  Heaven : 

O,  so  far  away  from  here, 
It  was  vain  to  speak  to  my  darling, 

For  I  knew  she  could  not  hear  ! 

I  had  a  message  to  send  her, 
So  tender,  and  true,  and  sweet, 

I  longed  for  an  Angel  to  bear  it, 
And  lay  it  down  at  her  feet. 

I  placed  it,  one  summer  evening, 
On  a  Cloudlet's  fleecy  breast ; 

But  it  faded  in  golden  splendor, 
And  died  in  the  crimson  west. 

I  gave  it  the  Lark,  next  morning, 
And  I  watched  it  soar  and  soar ; 

But  its  pinions  grew  faint  and  weary, 
And  it  fluttered  to  earth  once  more. 


To  the  heart  of  a  Rose  I  told  it ; 

And  the  perfume,  sweet  and  rare, 
Growing  faint  on  the  blue  bright  ether, 

Was  lost  in  the  balmy  air. 


SENT   TO  HEAVEN:  239 

I  laid  it  upon  a  Censer, 

And  I  saw  the  incense  rise  ; 
But  its  clouds  of  rolling  silver 

Could  not  reach  the  far  blue  skies. 

I  cried,  in  my  passionate  longing  :  — 
"  Has  the  earth  no  Angel-friend 

Who  will  carry  my  Love  the  message 
That  my  heart  desires  to  send  1 " 

Then  I  heard  a  strain  of  music, 

So  mighty,  so  pure,  so  clear, 
That  my  very  sorrow  was  silent, 

And  my  heart  stood  still  to  hear. 

And  I  felt,  in  my  soul's  deep  yearning, 
At  last  the  sure  answer  stir  :  — 

"  The  music  will  go  up  to  Heaven, 
And  carry  my  thought  to  her. " 

It  rose  in  harmonious  rushing 
Of  mingled  voices  and  strings, 

And  I  tenderly  laid  my  message 
On  the  Music's  outspread  wings. 

I  heard  it  float  farther  and  farther, 
In  sound  more  perfect  than  speech ; 

Farther  than  sight  can  follow, 
Farther  than  soul  can  reach. 

And  I  know  that  at  last  my  message 
Has  passed  through  the  golden  gate : 

So  my  heart  is  no  longer  restless, 
And  I  am  content  to  wait. 


a4o  NEVER  AGAIN. 


NEVER  AGAIN. 


ran 


EVER  again !"  vow  hearts  when  reunited, 
"Never  again  shall  Love  be  cast  aside ; 
Forever  now  the  shadow  has  departed  ; 
Nor  bitter  sorrow,  veiled  in  scornful 
pride, 
Shall  feign  indifference,  or  affect  disdain, — 
Never,  O  Love,  again,  never  again !  " 

"  Never  again  !  "  so  sobs,  in  broken  accents, 
A  soul  laid  prostrate  at  a  holy  shrine, — 

"  Once  more,  once  more  forgive,  O  Lord,  and  pardon, 
My  wayward  life  shall  bend  to  love  divine ; 

And  never  more  shall  sin  its  whiteness  stain, — 

Never,  O  God,  again,  never  again  !  " 

"  Never  again  !  "  so  speakcth  one  forsaken, 
In  the  blank  desolate  passion  of  despair, — 

"  Never  again  shall  the  bright  dream  I  cherished 
Delude  my  heart,  for  bitter  truth  is  there,  — 

The  angel,  Hope,  shall  still  thy  cruel  pain 

Never  again,  my  heart,  never  again !  " 

"  Never  again !  "  so  speaks  the  sudden  silence, 
When  round  the  hearth  gathers  each  well-known 
face, 

But  one  is  missing,  and  no  future  presence, 
However  dear,  can  fill  that  vacant  place  ; 

Forever  sball  that  burning  thought  remain, — 

«  Never,  beloved,  again  !  never  again  1 " 


LISTENING  ANGELS.  %\\ 

"  Never  again  !  "  so  —  but  beyond  our  hearing  — 
Ring  out  far  voices  fading  up  the  sky ; 

Never  again  shall  earthly  care  and  sorrow 

Weigh  down  the  wings  that  bear  those  souls  on 
high  ; 

"  Listen,  0  earth,  and  hear  that  glorious  strain,  — 

Never,  never  again  !  never  again  !  " 


LISTENING  ANGELS. 

LUE  against  the  bluer  heavens 

Stood  the  mountain,  calm   and  still, 
Two  white  Angels,  bending  earthward, 
Leant  upon  the  hill. 

Listening  leant  those  silent  Angels, 

And  I  also  longed  to  hear 
"What  sweet  strain  of  earthly  music 

Thus  could  charm  their  ear. 

I  heard  the  sound  of  many  trumpets 
In  a  warlike  march  draw  nigh ; 

Solemnly  a  mighty  army 
Passed  in  order  by. 

But  the  clang  had  ceased  ;  the  echoes 

Soon  had  faded  from  the  hill ; 
While  the  angels,  calm  and  earnest, 

Leant  and  listened  still. 

Then  I  heard  a  fainter  clamor, 

Forge  and  wheel  were  clashing  near, 
16 


242  LISTENING  ANGELS. 

And  the  Eeapers  in  the  meadow 
Singing  loud  and  clear. 

When  the  sunset  came  in  glory, 
And  the  toil  of  day  was  o'er, 

Still  the  Angels  leant  in  silence, 
Listening  as  before. 

Then,  as  daylight  slowly  vanished, 
And  the  evening  mists  grew  dim, 

Solemnly  from  distant  voices 
Hose  a  vesper  hymn. 

When  the  chant  was  done,  and  lingering 

Died  upon  the  evening  air, 
From  the  hill  the  radiant  Angels 

Still  were  listening  there. 

Silent  came  the  gathering  darkness, 
Bringing  with  it  sleep  and  rest ; 

Save  a  little  bird  was  singing 
Near  her  leafy  nest. 

Through  the  sounds  of  war  and  labor 
Shehad  warbled  all  day  long, 

While  the  Angels  leant  and  listened 
Only  to  her  song. 

But  the  starry  night  was  coming  ; 

When  she  ceased  her  little  lay 
From  the  mountain  top  the  Angels 

Slowly  passed  away. 


GOLDEN  DAYS.  243 

GOLDEN  DAYS. 

OLDEN  days  —  where  are  they  ? 
Pilgrims  cast  and  west 
Cry  ;  if  we  could  find  them 
We  would  pause  and  rest: 
We  would  pause  and  rest  a  little 

From  our  long  and  weary  ways  :  — 
Where  are  they,  then,  where  are  they  — 
Golden  days  ? 

Golden  days  —  where  are  they  1 

Ask  of  childhood's  years, 
Still  untouched  by  sorrow, 

Still  undimmed  by  tears  : 
Ah,  they  seek  a  phantom  Future, 

Crowned  with  brighter,  starry  rays ;  — 
Where  arc  they,  then,  where  are  they  — 
Golden  days  1 

Golden  days  —  where  are  they  ? 

Has  Love  learnt  the  spell 
That  will  charm  them  hither, 

Near  our  hearth  to  dwell  ? 
Insecure  are  all  her  treasures, 

Restless  is  her  anxious  gaze  :  — 
Where  are  they,  then,  where  are  they  — 
Golden  days  ? 

Golden  days  — where  are  they? 

Farther  up  the  bill 
I  can  hear  the  echo 

Faintly  calling  still ; 


244  PHILIP  AND  MILDRED. 

Faintly  calling,  faintly  dying, 
In  a  far-oft'  misty  haze  :  — 
Where  are  they,  then,  where  are  they  — 
Golden  days  % 


PHILIP  AND  MILDRED. 

ijflNGERING  fade   the   rays  of  daylight, 
S|P|  and  the  listening  air  is  chilly ; 


Voice  of  bird  and  forest  murmur,  in- 
sect hum  and  quivering  spray, 
Stir  not  in  that  quiet  hour:  through  the  valley, 
.  calm  and  stilly, 
All  in  hushed  and  loving  silence  watch  the  slow 
departing  day. 

Till  the  last  faint  western  cloudlet,  faint  and  rosy, 
ceases  blushing, 
And  the  blue  grows  deep  and  deeper  where  one 
trembling  planet  shines, 
And  the  day  has  gone  forever  —  then,  like  some 
great  ocean  rushing, 
The  sad  night  wind  wails  lamenting,   sobbing 
through  the  moaning  pines. 

Such,  of  all  day's  changing  hours,  is  the  fittest  and 
the  mcctest 
For  a  farewell  hour  —  and   parting   looks   less 
bitter  and  more  blest ; 
Earth  seems    like   a    shrine  for   sorrow,   Nature's 
mother  voice  is  sweetest, 
And  her  hand  seems  laid  in  chiding  on  the  un- 
quiet throbbing  breast. 


PniLIP  AND  MILDRED.  245 

"Words  arc  lower,  for  the  twilight  seems  rebuking 
sad  repining, 
And  wild  murmur  and  rebellion,  as  all  childish 
and  in  vain  ; 
Breaking-  through    dark    future    hours    clustering 
starry  hopes  seem  shining, 
Then  the  calm  and  tender  midnight  folds  her 
shadow  round  the  pain. 

So  they  paced  the  shady  lime-walk  in  that  twilight 
dim  and  holy, 
Still  the  last  farewell  deferring,  she  could  hear 
or  he  should  say  ; 
Every  word,  weighed  down  by  sorrow,  fell  more 
tenderly  and  slowly  — 
This,   which   now  bclield   their   parting,    should 
have  been  their  wedding-day. 

Should  have  been  :  her  dreams  of  childhood,  never 
straying,  never  faltering, 
Still  had  needed  Philip's  image  to  make  future 
life  complete ; 
Philip's  young  hopes  of  ambition,  ever  changing, 
ever  altering, 
Needed  Mildred's  gentle  presence  even  to  make 
successes  sweet. 

This   day  should  have   seen  their  marriage ;  the 
calm  crowning  and  assurance 
Of  two  hearts,  fulfilling  rather,  and  not  changing, 
cither  life  : 
Now  they   must  be  rent  asunder,   and  her  heart 
must  learn  endurance, 
For  he  leaves  their  home,  and  enters  on  a  world 
of  work  and  strife. 


246  PHILIP  AND  MILDRED. 

But  her  gentle  spirit  long  had  learnt,  unquestioning, 
submitting, 
To  revere  his  youthful  longings,  and  to  marvel 
at  the  fate 
That  gave  such  a  humble  office,  all  unworthy  and 
unfitting, 
To  the  genius  of  the  village,  who  was  born  for 
something  great. 

When  tbe  learned  Traveller  came  there  who  had 
gained  renown  at  college, 
Whose    abstruse   research   had  won    him    even 
European  fame, 
Questioned  Philip,  praised  his  genius,  marvelled  at 
his  self-taught  knowledge, 
Could  she  murmur  if  he  called  him  up  to  London 
and  to  fame  1 

Could  she  waver  when  he  bade  her  take  the  burden 
of  decision, 
Since  his  troth  to  her  M-as  plighted,  and  his  life 
was  now  her  own  1 
Could  she  doom  him  to  inaction  1  could  she,  when 
a  new-bom  vision 
Rose  in  glory  for  his  future,  check  it  for  her  sake 
alone  ? 

So  her  little  trembling  fingers,  that  had  toiled  with 
such  fond  plea  jure, 
Paused,  and  laid  aside,  and  folded  the  unfinished 
wedding  gown ; 
Faltering  earnestly  assurance,  that  she  too  could, 
in  her  measure, 
Prize  for  him  the  present  honor,  and  the  future's 
sure  renown. 


PniLIP  AND  MILDRED.  247 

Now  they  pace  the  shady  lime-walk,  now  the  last 
words  must  be  spoken, 
Words  of  trust,  for  neither  dreaded  more  than 
waiting  and  delay ; 
Was  not  Love  still  called  eternal  —  could  a  plighted 
vow  be  broken  ?  — 
See  the  crimson  light  of  sunset  fades  in  purple 
mist  away. 

"Yes,  my  Mildred,"  Philip  told  her,  "one  calm 
thought  of  joy  and  blessing, 
Like    a   guardian    spirit    by    me,    through    the 
world's  tumultuous  stir, 
Still  will    spread    its    wings   al>ove  me,   and  now 
urging,  now  repressing, 
With  my  Mildred's  voice  will  murmur  thoughts 
of  home,  and  love,  and  her. 

"It  will  charm  my  peaceful  leisure,  sanctify  my 
daily  toiling, 
With  a  right  none  else  possesses,  touching  my 
heart's  inmost  string ; 
And  to  keep  its  pure  wings  spotless  I  shall  fly  the 
world's  touch,  soiling 
Even  in   thought  this  Angel   Guardian    of  my 
Mildred's  Wedding  Ring. 

"  Take  it,  dear ;  this  little  circlet  is  the  first  link, 
strong  and  holy, 
Of  a  life-long  chain,  and  holds  me  from  all  other 
love  apart ; 
Till  the  day  when  you  may  wear  it  as  my  wife  — 
my  own  —  mine  wholly  — 
Let  me  know  it  rests  forever  near  the  beating  of 
your  heart." 


248  PB1LIP  AND  MILDRED. 

Dawn  of  day  saw  Philip  speeding  on  his  road  to 
the  Great  City, 
Thinking  how  the  stars  gazed  downward  just 
with  Mildred's  patient  eyes; 
Dreams  of  work,  and  fame,  and  honor  struggling 
with  a  tender  pity, 
Till  the  loving  Past  receding  saw  the  conquering 
Future  rise. 

Daybreak  still  found  Mildred  watching,  with  the 
wonder  of  first  sorrow, 
How  the  outward  world  unaltered  shone  the  same 
this  very  day ; 
How  unpitying  and  relentless   busy  life  met  this 
new  morrow, 
Earth,  and  sky,  and  man  unheeding  that  her  joy 
had  passed  away. 

Then  the  round  of  weary  duties,  cold  and  formal, 
came  to  meet  her, 
With  the  life  within  departed  that  had  given  them 
each  a  soul ; 
And  her  sick  heart  even  slighted  gentle  words  that 
came  to  greet  her ; 
For   Grief  spread  its   shadowy  pinions,   like   a 
blight,  upon  the  whole. 

Jar  one  chord,  the  harp  is  silent ;  move  one  stone, 
the  arch  is  shattered  ; 
One  small  clarion-cry  of  sorrow  bids  an  armed 
host  awake ; 
One  dark  cloud  can  hide  the  sunlight ;  loose  one 
string,  the  pearls  are  scattered  ; 
Think  one  thought,  a  soul  may  perish  ;  say  one 
word,  a  heart  may  break  ! 


mil  fP  AXD  MILDHED.  24$ 

Life  went  on,  the  two  lives  running  side  by  side  ; 
the  outward  seeming, 
And  the  truer  and   diviner  hidden  in  the  heart 
and  brain ; 
Dreams  grow  holy,  put  in  action ;  work  grows  fair 
through  starry  dreaming ; 
But  where  each  flows  on  unmingling,  both  arc 
fruitless  and  in  vain. 

Such  was  Mildred's  life;  her  dreaming  lay  in  some 
far-distant  region, 
All  the  fairer,  all  the  brighter,  that  its  glories 
were  but  guessed ; 
And  the  daily  round  of  duties  seemed  an  unreal, 
airy  legion,  — 
Nothing  true  save  Philip's  letters  and  the  ring 
upon  her  breast. 

Letters  telling  how  he  struggled,  for  some  plan  or 
vision  aiming, 
And  at  last  how  he  just  grasped  it  as  a  fresh  one 
spread  its  wings  ; 
How  the  honor  or  the  learning,  once  the  climax, 
now  were  claiming, 
Only  more  and  more,  becoming  merely  steps  to 
higher  things. 

Telling  her  of  foreign  countries  :  little  sto/e  had  she 
of  learning, 
So    her    earnest,   simple    spirit  answered  as  he 
touched  the  string  ; 
Day  by  day,  to  these  bright  fancies  all  her  silent 
thoughts  were  turning, 
Seeing  every  radiant  picture  framed  within  her 
golden  ring. 


a5o  PHILIP  AND  MILDRED. 

O  poor  heart !  love,  if  thou  wiliest ;  but,  thine  own 
soul  still  possessing1, 
Live  thy  life  :  not  a  reflection  or  a  shadow  of  his 
own  : 
Lean  as  fondly,  as  completely,  as  thou  wiliest,  — ■ 
but  confessing 
That  thy  strength  is  God's,  and  therefore  can,  if 
need  be,  stand  alone. 

Little  means  were  there  around  her  to  make  farther, 
wider  ranges, 
Where  her  loving  gentle  spirit  could  try  any 
stronger  flight ; 
And  she  turned  aside,  half  fearing  that  fresh  thoughts 
were  fickle  changes,  — 
That  she  must  stay  as  he  left  her  on  that  farewell 
summer  night. 

Love  should  still  be  guide  and  leader,  like  a  herald 
should  have  risen, 
Lighting  up  the  long  dark  vistas,  conquering  all 
opposing  fates ; 
But  new  claims,  new  thoughts,  new  duties    found 
her  heart  a  silent  prison, 
And   found   Love,  with   folded   pinions,  like   a 
jailer  by  the  gates. 

Yet  why  blame  her  ?  it  had  needed  greater  strength 
than  she  was  given 
To  have  gone  against  the  current  that  so  calmly 
flowed  along ; 
Nothing  fresh  came  near  the  village  save  the  rain 
and  dew  of  heaven, 
And  her  nature  was  too  passive,  and   her   lova 
perhaps  too  strong. 


PHILIP  AND  MILDRED.  451 

The  great  world  of  thought,  that   rushes  down  the 
years,  and  onward  sweeping 
Bears"  upon  its  mighty  billows    in   its    progress 
each  and  all, 
Flowed  so  far  away,  its  murmur  did  not  rouse  them 
from  their  sleeping  ; 
Life  and  Time   and  Truth  were  speaking,  but 
they  did  not  hear  their  call. 

Years  flowed  on  ;    and  every  morning  heard  her 
prayer  grow  lower,  deeper, 
As  she  called  all    blessings    on   him,  and  bade 
every  ill  depart, 
And  each  night  when  the    cold  moonlight  shone 
upon  that  quiet  sleeper, 
It  would  show  her  ring  that  glittered  with  each 
tln-obbing  of  her  heart. 

Years  passed  on.     Fame  came  for  Philip  in  a  full, 
o'crflowing  measure  ; 
He  was    spoken  of  and    honored   through   the 
breadth  of  many  lands, 
And  he  wrote  it  all  to  Mildred,  as  if  praise  were 
only  pleasure, 
As  if  fame  were  only  honor,  when  he  laid  them 
in  her  hands. 

Mildred  heard  it  without  wonder,  as  a  sure  result 
expected, 
For  how  could  it  fail,  since  merit  and  renown  go 
side  by  side : 
And  the  neighbors  who  first  fancied  genius  ought 
to  be  suspected, 
Might  at  last  give  up  their  caution,  and  could  own 
him  now  with  pride. 


a5»  PHILIP   AND  MILDRED. 

Years   flowed   on.      These   empty   honors   led   to 
others  they  called  better, 
He  had  saved  some  slender  fortune,  and  might 
claim  his  bride  at  last : 
Mildred,  grown  so  used  to  waiting,  felt  half  startled 
by  the  letter 
That  now  made  her  future  certain,  and  would 
consecrate  her  past. 

And  he  came  :  grown  sterner,  older  —  changed  in- 
deed :  a  grave  reliance 
Had  replaced  his  eager  manner,  and  the  quick, 
short  speech  of  old  : 
He  had  gone  forth  with  a  spirit  half  of  hope  and 
half  defiance ; 
He  returned  with  proud  assurance  half  disdainful 
and  half  cold. 

Yet  his  old  self  seemed  returning  while  he  stood 
sometimes,  and  listened 
To  her  calm,  soft  voice,  relating  all  the  thoughts 
of  these  long  years  ; 
And  if  Mildred's  heart  was  heavy,  and  at  times  her 
blue  eyes  glistened, 
Still  in  thought  she  would  not  whisper  aught  pf 
sorrow  or  of  fears. 

Autumn  with  its  golden  corn-fields,  autumn  with 
its  storms  and  showers, 
Had    been   there   to  greet  his   coming  with  its 
forests  gold  and  brown  ; 
And  the  last  leaves  still  were  falling,  fading  still  the 
year's  last  flowers, 
When  he  left  the  quiet  village,  and  took  back  his 
bride  to  town. 


PHILIP  AND   MILDRED.  253 

Home,  —  the  home  that  she  had  pictured  many  a 
time  in  twilight,  dwelling 
On  that  tender,  gentle  fancy,  folded  round  with 
loving  care ; 
Here  was  home,  —  the  end,  the  haven ;  and  what 
spirit  voice  seemed  telling, 
That  she  only  held  the  casket,  with  the  gem  no 
longer  there  1 

Sad  it  may  be  to  be  longing,  with  a  patience  faint 
and  weary, 
For  a  hope  deferred,  —  and  sadder  still  to  see  it 
fade  and  fall ; 
Yet  to  grasp  the  thing  we  long  for,  and,  with  sor- 
row sick  and  dreary, 
Then  to  find  how  it  can  fail  us,  is  the  saddest 
pain  of  all. 

What  was   wanting?     He   was   gentle,  kind,  and 
generous  still,  deferring 
To  her  wishes  always  ;  nothing  seemed  to  mar 
their  tranquil  life  : 
There  are  skies  so  calm  and  leaden  that  we  long 
for  storm-winds  stirring, 
There  is  peace  so  cold  and  bitter,  that  we  almost 
welcome  strife. 

Darker  grew  the  clouds  above  her,  and  the  slow 
conviction  clearer, 
That  he  gave  her  home  and  pity,  but  that  heart 
and  soul  and  mind 
Were  beyond  her  now ;  he  loved  her,  and  in  youth 
he  had  been  near  her, 
But  he  now  had  gone  far  onward,  and  had  left 
her  there  behind. 


254  PHILIP  AND  MILDRED. 

Yes,    beyond    her :    yes,   quiek-hearted,   her   Love 
helped  her  in  revealing 
It   was    worthless,    while  so  mighty ;    was    too 
weak,  although  so  strong ; 
There  were  courts  she  could  not  enter,  depths  she 
could  not  sound  ;  yet  feeling 
It  was  vain  to  strive  or  struggle,  vainer  still  to 
mourn  or  long. 

He  would  give  her  words  of  kindness,  he  would 
talk  of  home,  but  seeming 
"With  an  absent   look,  forgetting  if  he  held  or 
dropped  her  hand ; 
And  then  turn  with  eager  pleasure  to  his  writing, 
reading,  dreaming, 
Or  to  speak  of  things  with  others  that  she  could 
not  understand. 

He  had  paid,  and  paid  most  nobly,  all  he  owed ; 
no  need  of  blaming  ; 
It  had  cost  him    something,   may  be,   that  no 
future  could  restore : 
In  her  heart  of  hearts   she   knew   it ;    Love  and 
Sorrow,  not  complaining, 
Only  suffered  all  the  deeper,  only  loved  him  all 
the  more. 

Sometimes   then   a   stronger   anguish,   and    more 
cruel,  weighed  upon  her, 
That,  through  all  those  years  of  waiting,  he  had 
slowly  learnt  the  truth  ; 
He  had  known  himself  mistaken,  but  that,  bound 
to  her  in  honor, 
He  renounced  his  life,  to  pay  her  for  the  patience 
of  her  youth. 


PHILIP  AND  MILDRED.  255 

But  a  star  was   slowly  rising  from  that  mist  of 
grief,  and  brighter 
Grew  her  eyes,  for  each  slow  hour  surer  comfort 
seemed  to  bring ; 
And  she  watched  with  strange  sad  smiling  how  her 
trembling  hands  grew  slighter, 
And  how  thin  her  slender  finger,  and  how  large 
her  wedding-ring. 

And  the  tears  dropped  slowly  on  it,  as  she  kissed 
that  golden  token 
With  a  deeper  love,  it  may  be,  than  was  in  the 
far-off  past ; 
And  remembering  Philip's  fancy,  that  so  long  ago 
was  spoken, 
Thought  her  ring's  bright  angel  guardian  had 
stayed  near  her  to  the  last. 

Grieving  sorely,  grieving  truly,  with  a  tender  care 
and  sorrow, 
Philip    watched   the    slow,    sure    fading   of  hi3 
gentle,  patient  wife ; 
Could  he  guess  with  what  a  yearning  she  was  long- 
ing for  the  morrow, 
Could   he  guess  the  bitter  knowledge  that  had 
•  wearied  her  of  life  1 

Now  with  violets  strewn  upon  her,  Mildred  lies  iu 
peaceful  sleeping; 
All  unbound  her  long,  bright  tresses,  and  her 
throbbing  heart  at  rest, 
And  the  cold,  blue  rays  of  moonlight,  through  the 
open  casement  creeping, 
Show  the  ring  upon  her  finger,  and  her  hands 
crossed  on  her  breast. 


256  BORROWED    THOUGHTS 

Peace  at  last.     Of  peace  eternal  is  her  calm,  sweet 
smile  a  token. 
Has  some  angel  lingering  near  her  let  a  radiant 
promise  fall  ? 
Has  he  told  her  Heaven  unites  again  the  links  that 
Earth  has  broken  t 
For  on  Earth  so  much  is  needed,  but  in  Heaven 
Love  is  all ! 


BORROWED   THOUGHTS. 


I.      FROM  "LAVATER." 

RUST  him  little  who  doth  raise 

To  one  height  both  great  and  small, 
And  sets  the  sacred  crown  of  praise, 
Smiling,  on  the  head  of  all. 


Trust  him  less  who  looks  around 
To  censure  all  with  scornful  eyes, 

And  in  everything  has  found 
Something  that  he  dare  despise. 

But  for  one  who  stands  apart, 
Stirred  by  naught  that  can  befall, 

With  a  cold,  indifferent  heart,  — 
Trust  him  least  and  last  of  all. 


b  orr  o  n  i:d  mo  ug/its. 


257 


II.      FROM  "  PHANTASTES.' 


HAVE  a  bitter  Thought,  a  Snake 

That  used  to  sting  my  life  to  pain. 
I  strove  to  cast  it  far  away, 
But  every  night  and  every  day 
It  crawled  back  to  my  heart  again  ! 

It  was  in  vain  to  live  or  strive, 

To  think  or  sleep,  to  work  or  pray; 
At  last  I  bade  this  thing  accursed 
Gnaw  at  my  heart,  and  do  its  worst, 
And  so  I  let  it  have  its  way. 

Thus  said  I,  "I  shall  never  fall 
Into  a  false  and  dreaming  peace, 

And  then  awake,  with  sudden  start, 

To  feel  it  biting  at  my  heart, 

For  now  the  pain  can  never  cease." 

But  I  gained  more  ;  for  I  have  found 
That  such  a  snake's  envenomed  charm 

Must  always,  always  find  a  part, 

Deep  in  the  centre  of  my  heart, 

Which  it  can  never  wound  or  harm. 

It  is  coiled  round  my  heart  to-day. 

It  sleeps  at  times,  this  cruel  snake, 
And  while  it  sleeps  it  never  stings  :  — 
Hush !  let  us  talk  of  other  things, 

Lest  it  should  hear  me  and  awake. 
17 


a58  BORROWED    THOUGHTS. 


in.      FROM   "LOST  ALICE." 

ES,  dear,  our  Love  is  slain  ; 
In  the  cold  grave  for  evermore  it  lies, 

Never  to  wake  again, 
Or  light  our  sorrow  with  its  starry  eyes : 

And  so  —  regret  is  vain. 


One  hour  of  pain  and  dread, 
We  killed  our  Love,  we  took  its  life  away 

With  the  false  words  we  said  ; 
And  so  we  watch  it,  since  that  cruel  day, 

Silent,  and  cold,  and  dead. 

We  should  have  seen  it  shine 
Long  years  beside  us.     Time  and  Death  might  try 

To  touch  that  life  divine, 
Whose  strength  could  every  other  stroke  defy 

Save  only  thine  and  mine. 

No  longing  can  restore 
Our  dead  again.     Vain  are  the  tear3  we  weep, 

And  vainly  we  deplore 
Our  buried  Love :  its  grave  lies  dark  and  deep 

Between  us  evermore. 


BORROWED   TUOUGUTS.  259 


IV.      FROM      *        *        * 

ITHIN  the  kingdom  of  my  Soul 
I  bid  you  enter,  Love,  to-day  ; 
Submit  my  life  to  your  control, 
And  give  my  Heart  up  to  your  sway. 

My  Past,  whose  light  and  life  is  flown, 
Shall  live  through  memory  for  you  still ; 
Take  all  my  Present  for  your  own, 
And  mould  my  Future  to  your  will. 

One  only  thought  remains  apart, 
And  will  forever  so  remain  ; 
There  is  one  Chamber  in  my  heart 
Where  even  you  might  knock  in  vain. 

A  haunted  Chamber  :  —  long  ago 
I  closed  it,  and  I  cast  the  key 
Where  deep  and  hitter  waters  flow, 
Into  a  vast  and  silent  sea. 

Dear,  it  is  haunted.     All  the  rest 
Is  yours ;  but  I  have  shut  that  door 
Forever  now.     'T  is  even  best 
That  I  should  enter  it  no  more. 

No  more.     It  is  not  well  to  stay 
With  ghosts  ;  their  very  look  would  scare 
Your  joyous,  loving  smile  away ;  — 
So  never  trv  to  enter  there. 


26o  LIGHT  AND   SHADE. 

Check,  if  you  love  me,  all  regret 
That  this  one  thought  remains  apart : 
Now  let  us  smile,  dear,  and  forget 
The  haunted  Chamber  in  my  Heart. 


LIGHT  AND   SHADE. 


HOU   hast    done    well    to    kneel    and 
say, 
"  Since  He  who  gave  can  take  away, 
And  bid  me  suffer,  I  obey." 


And  also  well  to  tell  thy  heart, 
That  good  lies  in  the  bitterest  part, 
And  thou  wilt  profit  by  her  smart. 

But  bitter  hours  come  to  all : 

When  even  truths  like  these  will  pall, 

Sick  hearts  for  humbler  comfort  call. 

Then  I  would  have  thee  strive  to  see 
That  good  and  evil  come  to  thee, 
As  one  of  a  great  family. 

And  as  material  life  is  planned, 

That  even  the  loneliest  one  must  stand 

Dependent  on  his  brother's  hand  ; 

So  links  more  subtle  and  more  fine 
Bind  every  other  soul  to  thine 
In  one  great  brotherhood  divine. 


LIGHT  AND   SHADE.  26i 

Nor  with  thy  share  of  work  be  vexed  ; 
Though  incomplete,  and  even  perplext, 
It  fits  exactly  to  the  next. 

What  seems  so  dark  to  thv  dim  sight 
May  be  a  shadow,  seen  aright, 
Making  some  brightness  doubly  brighi. 

The  flash  that  struck  thy  tree-  i*"  »*°re 
To  shelter  thee — lets  Heaven's  blue  i*>or 
Shine  where  it  never  shone  before. 

Thy  life  that  has  been  dropped  aside 
Into  Time's  stream,  may  stir  the  tido 
In  rippled  circles  spreading  wide. 

The  cry  wrung  from  thy  snjrit's  pain 
May  echo  on  some  far-off  piain, 
And  guide  a  wanderer  home  again. 

Fail  —  yet  rejoice  ;  because  no  less 
The  failure  that  makes  thy  distress 
May  teach  another  full  success. 

It  may  be  that  in  some  great  need 
Thy  life's  poor  fragments  arc  decreed 
To  help  build  up  a  lofty  deed. 

Thy  heart  should  throb  in  vast  contentj 
Thus  knowing  that  it  was  but  meant 
As  chord  in  one  great  instrument ; 

That  even  the  discord  in  thy  soul 
May  make  completer  music  roll 
From  out  the  great  harmonious  whole. 


LIGHT  AND   SHADE. 

It  may  be,  that  when  all  is  light, 
Deep  set  within  that  deep  delight 
Will  be  to  know  why  all  was  right ; 

To  hear  life's  perfect  music  rise, 
And,  while  it  floods  the  happy  skies, 
Thy  feeble  voice  to  recognize. 

Then  strive  more  gladly  to  fulfil 
Thy  little  part.     This  darkness  st31 
Is  light  to  every  loving  will, 

And  trust,  as  if  already  plain, 
How  just  thy  share  of  loss  and  pain 
Is  for  another  fuller  gain. 

I  dare  not  limit  time  or  place 
Touched  by  thy  life  :  nor  dare  I  trace 
Its  far  vibrations  into  space. 

One  only  knows.     Yet  if  the  fret 
Of  thy  weak  heart,  in  weak  regret 
Needs  a  more  tender  comfort  yet : 

Then  thou  mayst  take  thy  loneliest  fears, 
The  bitterest  drops  of  all  thy  tears, 
The  dreariest  hours  of  all  thy  years  ; 

And  through  thy  anguish  there  outspread, 
May  ask  that  God's  great  love  would  shed 
Blessings  on  one  beloved  head. 

And  thus  thy  soul  shall  learn  to  draw 
Sweetness  from  out  that  loving  law 
That  sees  no  failure  and  no  flaw 


A    CHANGELING. 

Where  all  is  good.     And  life  is  good, 
"Were  the  one  lesson  understood 
Of  its  most  sacred  brotherhood. 


A  CHANGELING. 

LITTLE  changeling  spirit 
Crept  to  my  arms  one  day : 

I  had  no  heart  or  courage 
To  drive  the  child  away. 


So  all  day  long  I  soothed  her, 
And  hushed  her  on  my  breast 

And  all  night  long  her  wailing 
Would  never  let  me  rest. 

I  dug  a  grave  to  hold  her, 
A  grave  both  dark  and  deep  ; 

I  covered  her  with  violets, 
And  laid  her  there  to  sleep. 

I  used  to  go  and  watch  there, 
Both  night  and  morning  too  :  • 

It  was  my  tears,  I  fancy, 
That  kept  the  violets  blue. 

I  took  her  up  :  and  once  more 
I  felt  the  clinging  hold, 

And  heard  the  ceaseless  wailing 
That  wearied  me  of  old. 


DISCOURAGED. 

I  wandered,  and  I  wandered, 
With  my  burden  on  my  breast, 

Till  I  saw  a  church-door  open, 
And  entered  in  to  rest. 

In  the  dim,  dying  daylight, 

Set  in  a  flowery  shrine, 
I  saw  the  Virgin  Mother 

Holding  her  Child  divine. 

I  knelt  down  there  in  silence, 

And  on  the  altar-stone 
I  laid  my  wailing  burden, 

And  came  away  —  alone. 

And  now  that  little  spirit, 
That  sobbed  so  all  day  long, 

Is  grown  a  shining  angel, 

With  wings  both  wide  and  strong. 

She  watches  me  from  Heaven 
With  loving,  tender  care, 

And  one  day  she  has  promised 
That  I  shall  find  her  there. 


DISCOURAGED. 


]HERE  the  little  babbling  streamlet 
First  springs  forth  to  light, 


■ 

fl^QMfl    Tricklin?  through  soft  velvet  mosses, 
1  Wcfe.^1       Almost  hid  from  sight ; 
Vowed  I  with  delight, — 


DISCOURAGED.  265 

"  River,  I  will  follow  thee, 
Through  thy  wanderings  to  the  Sea ! 

Gleaming  'mid  the  purple  heather, 

Downward  then  it  sped, 
Glancing  through  the  mountain  gorges, 

Like  a  silver  thread, 

As  it  quicker  fled, 
Louder  music  in  its  flow, 
Dashing  to  the  vale  below. 

Then  its  voice  grew  lower,  gentler, 

And  its  pace  less  fleet, 
Just  as  though  it  loved  to  linger 

Round  the  rushes'  feet, 

As  they  stooped  to  meet 
Their  clear  images  below, 
Broken  by  the  ripples'  flow. 

Purple  "Willow-herb  bent  over 

To  her  shadow  fair ; 
Meadow-sweet,  in  feathery  clusters, 

Perfumed  all  the  air ; 

Silver-weed  was  there, 
And  in  one  calm,  grassy  spot, 
Starry,  blue  Forget-me-not. 

Tangled  weeds,  below  the  waters, 
Still  seemed  drawn  away  ; 

Yet  the  current,  floating  onward, 
Was  less  strong  than  they  ;  — 
Sunbeams  watched  their  play, 

With  a  flickering  light  and  shade, 

Through  the  screen  the  Alders  made. 


266  DISCOURAGED. 

Broader  grew  the  flowing  River 

To  its  grassy  brink  ; 
Slowly,  in  the  slanting  sun-rays, 

Cattle  trooped  to  drink; 

The  blue  sky,  I  think, 
"Was  no  bluer  than  that  stream, 
Slipping  onward,  like  a  dream. 

Quicker,  deeper  then  it  hurried, 
Rushing  fierce  and  free ; 

But  I  said,  "It  should  grow  calmer 
Ere  it  meets  the  Sea, 
The  wide  purple  Sea, 

'Which  I  weary  for  in  vain, 

Wasting  all  my  toil  and  pain." 

But  it  rushed  still  quicker,  fiercer, 

In  its  rocky  bed, 
Hard  and  stony  was  the  pathway 

To  my  tired  tread ; 

"  I  despair,"  I  said, 
"  Of  that  wide  and  glorious  Sea 
That  was  promised  unto  me." 

So  I  turned  aside,  and  wandered 
Through  green  meadows  near, 

Far  away,  among  the  daisies, 
Far  away,  for  fear 
Lest  I  still  should  hear 

The  loud  murmur  of  its  song, 

As  the  River  flowed  along. 

Kow  I  hear  it  not :  —  I  loiter 
Gayly  as  before ; 


IF   TEOU  COULDST  KNOW.  2C7 

Yet  I  sometimes  think,  —  and  thinking 

Makes  my  heart  so  sore, — 

Just  a  few  steps  more, 
And  there  miplit  have  shone  for  me. 
Blue  and  infinite,  the  Sea. 


IF   THOU   COULDST  KNOW. 

THINK  if  thou  couldst  know, 

O  soul  that  will  complain, 
"What  lies  concealed  below 
Our  burden  and  our  pain  ; 
How  just  our  anguish  brings 
Nearer  those  longed-for  things 
We  seek  for  now  in  vain,  — 
I  think  thou  wouldst  rejoice,  and  not  complain. 

I  think  if  thou  couldst  see, 

"With  thy  dim  mortal  sight, 
How  meanings,  dark  to  thee, 
Are  shadows  hiding  light ; 
Truth's  efforts  crossed  and  vexed, 
Life's  purpose  all  perplexed,  — 
If  thou  couldst  see  them  right, 
I  think  that  they  would  seem  all  clear,  and  wise, 
and  bright. 

And  yet  thou  canst  not  know, 
And  yet  thou  canst  not  see ; 

Wisdom  and  sight  are  slow 
In  poor  humanity. 


268    THE  WARRIOR  TO  HIS  BEAD  BRIDE. 

If  thou  couldst  trust,  poor  soul, 
In  Him  who  rules  the  whole, 
Thou  wonldst  find  peace  and  rest : 
Wisdom  and  sight  are  well,  hut  Trust  is  best. 


THE  "WARRIOR  TO  HIS  DEAD  BRIDE. 

F  in  the  fight  my  arm  was  strong 
And  forced  my  foes  to  yield,  — 
If  conquering  and  unhurt  I  came 
Back  from  the  battle-field,  — 
It  is  because  thy  prayers  have  been 
My  safeguard  and  my  shield. 

My  comrades  smile  to  see  my  arm 

Spare  or  protect  a  foe, 
They  think  thy  gentle  pleading  voice 

Was  silenced  long  ago  ; 
But  pity  and  compassion,  love, 

Were  taught  me  first  by  woe. 

Thy  heart,  my  own,  still  beats  in  Heaven 

With  the  same  love  divine 
That  made  thee  stoop  to  such  a  soul, 

So  hard,  so  stern  as  mine,  — 
My  eyes  have  learnt  to  weep,  beloved, 

Since  last  they  looked  on  thine. 

I  hear  thee  murmur  words  of  peace 
Through  the  dim  midnight  air, 


A  LETTER.  269 

And  a  calm  falls  from  the  angel  stars 
And  soothes  my  great  despair,  — 

The  heavens  themselves  look  hrighter,  love, 
Since  thy  sweet  soul  is  there. 

And  if  my  heart  is  once  more  calm, 

My  step  is  once  more  free, 
It  is  because  each  hour  I  feel 

Thou  prayest  still  for  me  ; 
Because  no  fate  or  change  can  como 

Between  my  soul  and  thee. 

It  is  because  my  heart  is  stilled, 

Not  broken  by  despair, 
Because  I  see  the  grave  is  bright, 

And  death  itself  is  fair :  — 
I  dread  no  more  the  wrath  of  Heaven,  — 

I  have  an  angel  there ! 


A  LETTER. 

EAR,  I  tried  to  write  you  such  a  letter 
As  would  tell  you  all  my  heart  to-day. 
Written  Love  is  poor ;  one  word  were 
better ; 
Easier,  too,  a  thousand  times,  to  say. 

I  can  tell  you  all :  fears,  doubts  unheeding, 
While  I  can  be  near  you,  hold  your  hand, 
Looking  right  into  your  eyes,  and  reading 
Reassurance  that  you  understand. 


a7o  A  LETTER. 

Yet  I  wrote  it  through,  then  lingered,  thinking 
Of  its  reaching  you,  —  what  hour,  what  day  ; 
Till  I  felt  my  heart  and  courage  sinking 
With  a  strange,  new,  wondering  dismay. 

"  Will  my  letter  fall,"  I  wondered  sadly, 
"  On  her  mood  like  some  discordant  tone, 
Or  be  welcomed  tenderly  and  gladly  1 
Will  she  be  with  others,  or  alone  1 

"  It  may  find  her  too  absorbed  to  read  it, 
Save  with  hurried  glance  and  careless  air : 
Sad  and  weary,  she  may  scarcely  heed  it ; 
Gay  and  happy,  she  may  hardly  care. 

"  Shall  I  —  dare  I  —  risk  the  chances  1  "  slowly 
Something  —  was  it  shyness,  love,  or  pride?  — 
Chilled  my  heart,  and  checked  my  courage  wholly ; 
So  I  laid  it  wistfully  aside. 

Then  I  leant  against  the  casement,  turning 
Tearful  eyes  towards  the  far-off  west, 
Where  the  golden  evening  light  was  burning, 
Till  my  heart  throbbed  back  again  to  rest. 

And  I  thought :  "  Love's  soul  is  not  in  fetters, 
Neither  space  nor  time  keeps  souls  apart ; 
Since  I  cannot  —  dare  not  —  send  my  letters, 
Through  the  silence  I  will  send  my  heart. 

"  If,  perhaps  now,  while  my  tears  are  falling, 
She  is  dreaming  quietly  alone, 
She  will  hear  my  Love's  far  echo  calling, 
Feel  my  spirit  drawing  near  her  own. 


A    COMFORTER.  271 

•"  She  will  hear,  while  twilight  shades  enfold  her, 
All  the  gathered  Love  she  knows  so  well,  — 
Deepest  Love  my  words  have  ever  told  her, 
Deeper  still  —  all  I  could  never  tell. 

"  Wondering  at  the  strange,  mysterious  power 
That  has  touched  her  heart,  then  she  will  say : 
«  Some  one  whom  I  love,  this  very  hour, 
Thinks  of  me,  and  loves  me,  far  away.' 

"  If,  as  well  may  he,  to-night  has  found  her 
Full  of  other  thoughts,  with  others  hy, 
Through  the  words  and  claims  that  gather  round  hex 
She  will  hear  just  one  half-smothered  sigh; 

"  Or  will  marvel  why,  without  her  seeking, 
Suddenly  the  thought  of  me  recurs  ; 
Or,  while  listening  to  another  speaking, 
Fancy  that  my  hand  is  holding  hers." 

So  I  dreamed,  and  watched  the  stars'  far  splendor 
Glimmering  on  the  azure  darkness,  start,  — 
"While  the  star  of  trust  rose  bright  and  tender, 
Through  the  twilight  shadows  of  my  heart. 


A  COMFORTER. 


ILL  she  come  to  me,  little  Effio, 

Will  she  come  in  my  arms  to  rest, 
And  nestle  her  head  on  my  shoulder, 
While  the  sun  goes  down  in  the  west  ? 


»7> 


A    COMFORTER. 

ii. 

"  I  and  Effie  will  sit  together, 

All  alone,  in  this  great  arm-chair  :  — 

Is  it  silly  to  mind  it,  darling, 
When  Life  is  so  hard  to  bear  ? 

in. 

"  No  one  comforts  me  like  my  Effie, 
Just  I  think  that  she  does  not  try,  — 

Only  looks  with  a  wistful  wonder 
Why  grown  people  should  ever  cry ; 

IV. 

*'  While  her  little  soft  arms  close  tighter 
Round  my  neck  in  their  clinging  hold : 

Well,  I  must  not  cry  on  your  hair,  dear, 
For  my  tears  might  tarnish  the  gold. 


"  I  am  tired  of  trying  to  read,  dear ; 

It  is  worse  to  talk  and  seem  gay : 
There  are  some  kinds  of  sorrow,  Effie, 

It  is  useless  to  thrust  away. 

VI. 

"  Ah,  advice  may  be  wise,  my  darling, 
But  one  always  knows  it  before; 

And  the  reasoning  down  one's  sorrow 
Seems  to  make  one  suffer  the  more. 

VII. 

"  But  my  Effie  won't  reason,  will  she  ? 
Or  endeavor  to  understand ; 


A    COMFORTER.  273 

Only  holds  up  her  mouth  to  kiss  me, 
As  she  strokes  my  face  with  her  hand. 

VIII. 

"  If  you  break  your  plaything  yourself,  dear, 
Don't  you  cry  for  it  all  the  same  ? 

I  don't  think  it  is  such  a  comfort, 
One  has  only  one's  self  to  blame. 

IX. 

"  People  say  things  cannot  be  helped,  dear, 
But  then  that  is  the  reason  why ; 

For  if  things  could  be  helped  or  altered, 
One  would  never  sit  down  to  cry : 

x. 

"  They  say,  too,  that  tears  are  quite  useless 
To  undo,  amend,  or  restore,  — 

When  I  think  how  useless,  my  Effie, 
Then  my  tears  only  fall  the  more. 

XI. 

«« All  to-day  I  struggled  against  it ; 

But  that  does  not  make  sorrow  cease ; 
And  now,  dear,  it  is  such  a  comfort 

To  be  able  to  cry  in  peace. 

XII. 

"  Though  wise  people  would  call  that  folly, 
And  remonstrate  with  grave  surprise; 

We  won't  mind  what  they  say,  my  Effie ;  — 
We  never  professed  to  be  wise. 
18 


274  A    COMFORTER. 

XIII. 

"  But  my  comforter  knows  a  lesson 
Wiser,  truer  than  all  the  rest :  — 

That  to  help  and  to  heal  a  sorrow, 
Love  and  silence  are  always  best. 

XIV. 

"  Well,  who  is  my  comforter  —  tell  me  ? 

Effie  smiles,  but  she  will  not  speak : 
Or  look  up  through  the  long  curled  lashes 

That  are  shading  her  rosy  cheek. 

xv. 

"  Is  she  thinking  of  talking  fishes, 
The  blue-bird,  or  magical  tree  ? 

Perhaps  I  am  thinking,  my  darling, 
Of  something  that  never  can  be. 

XVI. 

"  You  long  —  don't  you,  dear  ?  —  for  the  Genii, 
Who  were  slaves  of  lamps  and  of  rings ; 

And  I  —  I  am  sometimes  afraid,  dear, 
I  want  as  impossible  tilings. 

XVII. 

"  But  hark  !  there  is  Nurse  calling  Eme  1 

It  is  bedtime,  so  run  away  ; 
And  I  must  go  back,  or  the  others 

Will  be  wondering  why  I  stay. 

XVIII. 

"  So  good-night  to  my  darling  Effie  ; 

Keep  happv,  sweetheart,  and  grow  wise  :  — 
There 's  one  kiss  for  her  golden  tresses, 
And  two  for  her  sleepy  eyes." 


UNSEEN. 


275 


UNSEEN. 


HERE  arc  more  things  in  Heaven  and 
Earth  than  we 
Can  dream  of,   or  than  Nature  under- 
stands ; 

We  learn  not  through  our  poor  philosophy 
"What  hidden  chords  are  touched  by  unseen  hands. 

The  present  hour  repeats  upon  its  strings 
Echoes  of  some  vague  dream  -we  have  forgot ; 
Dim  voices  whisper  half-remembered  things, 
And  when  we  pause  to  listen  —  answer  not. 

Forebodings  come  :  we  know  not  how,  or  whence, 
Shadowing  a  nameless  fear  upon  the  soul, 
And  stir  within  our  hearts  a  subtler  sense 
Than  light  may  read,  or  wisdom  may  control. 

And  who  can  tell  what  secret  links  of  thought 
Bind  heart  to  heart  ?     Unspoken  things  are  heard, 
As  if  within  our  deepest  selves  was  brought 
The  soul,  perhaps,  of  some  unuttered  word. 

But,  though  a  veil  of  shadow  hangs  between 
That  hidden  life  and  what  we  see  and  heai, 
Let  us  revere  the  power  of  the  Unseen, 
And  know  a  world  of  mystery  is  near. 


a76     A  REMEMBRANCE  OF  AUTUMN. 


A  REMEMBRANCE   OF  AUTUMN. 

OTHING  stirs  the  sunny  silence,  — 
Save  the  drowsy  humming  of  the  bees 
Round  the  rich  ripe  peaches  on  tha 
wall, 
And  the  south  wind  sighing  in  the  trees, 

And  the  dead  leaves  rustling  as  they  fall : 
While  the  swallows,  one  by  one,  are  gathering, 

All  impatient  to  be  on  the  wing, 
And  to  wander  from  us,  seeking 

Their  beloved  Spring ! 

Cloudless  rise  the  azure  heavens  ! 

Only  vaporous  wreaths  of  snowy  white 
Nestle  in  the  gray  hill's  rugged  side ; 
And  the  golden  woods  are  bathed  in  light, 
Dying,  if  they  must,  with  kingly  pride : 
While  the  swallows,  in  the  blue  air  wheeling, 

Circle  now  an  eager,  fluttering  band, 
Ready  to  depart  and  leave  us 

For  a  brighter  land ! 

But  a  voice  is  sounding  sadly, 
Telling  of  a  glory  that  has  been ; 

Of  a  day  that  faded  all  too  fast :  — 
See  afar  through  the  blue  air  serene 

Where  the  swallows  wing  their  way  at  last, 
And  our  hearts  perchance  as  sadly  wandering, 

Vainly  seeking  for  a  long-lost  day, 
While  we  watch  the  far-off  swallows, 
Flee  with  them  away  I 


TIIREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE. 


277 


THREE  EVENINGS   IN  A  LIFE. 

1. 

ES,  it  looked  dark  and  dreary 
That  long  and  narrow  street : 
Only  the  sound  of  the  rain, 

And  the  tramp  of  passing  feet. 
The  duller  glow  of  the  fire, 

And  gathering  mists  of  night 
To  mark  how  slow  and  weary 
The  long  day's  cheerless  flight  I 

11. 

Watching  the  sullen  fire, 

Hearing  the  dreary  rain, 
Drop  after  drop,  run  down 

On  the  darkening  window-pane  : 
Chill  was  the  heart  of  Alice, 

Chill  as  that  winter  day,  — 
For  the  star  of  her  life  had  risen 

Only  to  fade  away. 

in. 

The  voice  that  had  been  so  strong 

To  bid  the  snare  depart, 
The  true  and  earnest  will, 

The  calm  and  steadfast  heart, 
Were  now  weighed  down  by  sorrow, 

Were  quivering  now  with  pain ; 
The  clear  path  now  seemed  clouded, 

And  all  her  grief  in  vain. 


*7*        THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE. 

IV. 

Duty,  Eight,  Truth,  who  promised 

To  help  and  save  their  own, 
Seemed  spreading  wide  their  pinions 

To  leave  her  there  alone. 
So,  turning  from  the  Present 

To  well-known  days  of  yore, 
She  called  on  them  to  strengthen 

And  guard  her  soul  once  more. 


She  thought  how  in  her  girlhood 

Her  life  was  given  away, 
The  solemn  promise  spoken 

She  kept  so  well  today ; 
How  to  her  brother  Herbert 

She  had  been  help  and  guide, 
And  how  his  artist  nature 

On  her  calm  strength  relied. 

VI. 

How  through  life's  fret  and  turmoil 

The  passion  and  fire  of  art 
In  him  was  soothed  and  quickened 

By  her  true  sister  heart  ; 
How  future  hopes  had  always 

Been  for  his  sake  alone ; 
And  now  —  what  strange  new  feeling 

Possessed  her  as  its  own  7 

VII. 

Her  home  —  each  flower  that  breathed  there, 
The  wind's  sigh,  soft  and  low, 


THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE.        279 

Each  trembling  spray  of  ivy, 

The  river's  murmuring  flow, 
The  shadow  of  the  forest, 

Sunset,  or  twilight  dim,  — 
Dear  as  they  were,  were  dearer 

By  leaving  them  for  him. 

VIII. 

And  each  year  as  it  found  her 

In  the  dull,  feverish  town, 
Saw  self  still  more  forgotten, 

And  selfish  care  kept  down 
By  the  calm  joy  of  evening 

That  brought  him  to  her  side, 
To  warn  liim  with  wise  counsel. 

Or  praise  with  tender  pride. 

IX. 

Her  heart,  her  life,  her  future, 

Her  genius,  only  meant 
Another  tiling  to  give  him, 

And  be  therewith  content. 
To-day,  what  words  had  stirred  her, 

Her  soul  could  not  forget  ? 
What  dream  had  filled  her  spirit 

"With  strange  and  wild  regret  ? 


To  leave  him  for  another, — 
Could  it  indeed  be  so  9 

Could  it  have  cost  such  anguish 
To  bid  this  vision  go  ? 


2$o        THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE. 

Was  this  her  faith  ?     Was  Herbert 
The  second  in  her  heart  ? 

Did  it  need  all  this  struggle 
To  bid  a  dream  depart  ? 


XI. 

And  yet,  within  her  spirit 

A  far-off  land  was  seen, 
A  home,  which  might  have  held  her, 

A  love,  which  might  have  been, 
And  Life  —  not  the  mere  being 

Of  daily  ebb  and  flow, 
But  Life  itself  had  claimed  her, 

And  she  had  let  it  go  ! 

XII. 

Within  her  heart  there  echoed 

Again  the  well-known  tone 
That  promised  this  bright  future, 

And  asked  her  for  her  own : 
Then  words  of  sorrow,  broken 

By  half-reproachful  pain ; 
And  then  a  farewell,  spoken 

In  words  of  cold  disdain. 


XIII. 

Where  now  was  the  stern  purpose 
That  nerved  her  soul  so  long  ? 

Whence  came  the  words  she  uttered, 
So  hard,  so  cold,  so  strong  % 

What  right  had  she  to  banish 
A  hope  that  God  had  given  ? 


THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE.        281 

Why  must  she  choose  earth's  portion, 
And  turn  aside  from  Heaven  ? 

XIV. 

To-day  !     Was  it  this  morning? 

If  this  long,  fearful  strife 
Was  hut  the  work  of  hours, 

What  would  be  years  of  life  ? 
Why  did  a  cruel  Heaven 

For  such  great  suffering  call  ? 
And  why  —  O  still  more  cruel !  — 

Must  her  own  words  do  all  1 

xv. 

Did  she  repent  ?     0  Sorrow  ! 

Why  do  we  linger  still 
To  take  thy  loving  message, 

And  do  thy  gentle  will  ? 
See,  her  tears  fall  more  slowly, 

The  passionate  murmurs  cease, 
And  back  upon  her  spirit 

Flow  strength,  and  love,  and  peace. 


XVI. 

The  fire  hums  more  brightly, 

The  rain  has  passed  away, 
Herbert  will  sec  no  shadow 

Upon  his  home  to-day : 
Only  that  Alice  greets  him 

With  doubly  tender  care, 
Kissing  a  fonder  blessing 

Down  on  his  golden  hair. 


zSz        THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE. 

n. 


Palette  and  brush  laid  by, 
The  sketch  rests  on  the  easel, 
The  paint  is  scarcely  dry ; 
And  Silence  —  who  seems  always 

Within  her  depths  to  bear 
The  next  sound  that  will  utter  — 
Now  holds  a  dumb  despair. 

II. 

So  Alice  feels  it :  listening 

With  breathless,  stony  fear, 
Waiting  the  dreadful  summons 

Each  minute  brings  more  near: 
When  the  young  life,  now  ebbing, 

Shall  fail,  and  pass  away 
Into  that  mighty  shadow 

Who  shrouds  the  house  to-day. 

in. 

But  why  —  when  the  sick-chamber 

Is  on  the  upper  floor  — 
Why  dares  not  Alice  enter 

Within  the  close-shut  door  ? 
If  he  —  her  all  —  her  Brother, 

Lies  dying  in  that  gloom, 
What  strange  mysterious  power 

Has  sent  her  from  the  room  ? 


THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE.        z83 

IV. 

It  is  not  one  week's  anguish 

That  can  have  changed  her  so ; 
Joy  has  not  died  here  lately, 

Struck  down  by  one  quick  blow ; 
But  cruel  months  have  needed 

Their  long  relentless  chain, 
To  teach  that  shrinking  manner 

Of  helpless,  hopeless  pain. 

v. 

The  struggle  was  scarce  over 

Last  Christmas  Eve  had  brought : 
The  fibres  still  were  quivering 

Of  the  one  wounded  thought, 
"When  Herbert  —  who,  unconscious, 

Had  guessed  no  inward  strife  — 
Bade  her,  in  pride  and  pleasure, 

Welcome  his  fair  young  wife. 

VI. 

Bade  her  rejoice,  and  smiling, 

Although  his  eyes  were  dim, 
Thanked  God  he  thus  could  pay  her 

The  care  she  gave  to  him. 
This  fresh  bright  life  would  bring  her 

A  new  and  joyous  fate  — 
O  Alice,  check  the  murmur 

That  cries,  "  Too  late  !  too  late ! " 

VII. 

Too  late  !     Could  she  have  known  it 
A  few  short  weeks  before. 


284        TifREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE. 

That  his  life  was  completed, 
And  needing  hers  no  more, 

She  might O  sad  repining  ! 

What  "might  have  been"  forget; 

"  It  was  not "  should  suffice  us 
To  stifle  vain  regret. 

VIII. 

He  needed  her  no  longer, 

Each  day  it  grtw  more  plain ; 
First  with  a  startled  wonder, 

Then  with  a  wondering  pain. 
Love :  why,  his  wife  best  gave  it ; 

Comfort :  durst  Alice  speak, 
Or  counsel,  when  resentment 

Flushed  on  the  young  wife's  cheek. 

IX. 

No  more  long  talks  by  firelight 

Of  childish  times  long  past, 
And  dreams  of  future  greatness 

Which  he  must  reach  at  last ; 
Dreams,  where  her  purer  instinct 

With  truth  unerring  told 
Where  was  the  worthless  gilding, 

And  where  refined  gold. 


x. 

Slowly,  but  surely  ever, 
Dora's  poor  jealous  pride, 

Which  she  called  love  for  Herbert, 
Drove  Alice  from  his  6ide ; 


THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE.        2.85 

And,  spite  of  nervous  effort 

To  share  their  altered  life, 
She  felt  a  check  to  Herbert, 

A  burden  to  his  wife. 

XI. 

This  was  the  least ;  for  Alice 

Feared,  dreaded,  knew  at  length 
How  much  his  nature  owed  her 

Of  truth,  and  power,  and  strength ; 
And  watched  the  daily  failing 

Of  all  his  nobler  part : 
Low  aims,  weak  purpose,  telling 

In  lower,  weaker  art. 

XII. 

And  now,  when  he  is  dying, 

The  last  words  she  could  hear 
Must  not  be  hers,  but  given 

The  bride  of  one  short  year. 
The  last  care  is  another's  ; 

The  last  prayer  must  not  be 
The  one  they  learnt  together 

Beside  their  mother's  knee. 

XIII. 

Summoned  at  last :  she  kisses 

The  clay-cold  stiffening  hand ; 
And,  reading  pleading  efforts 

To  make  her  understand, 
Answers,  with  solemn  promise, 

In  clear  but  trembling  tone, 
To  Dora's  life  henceforward 

She  will  devote  her  own. 


a86        THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE. 

XIV. 

Now  all  is  over.     Alice 

Dares  not  remain  to  weep, 
But  soothes  the  frightened  Dora 

Into  a  sobbing  sleep. 
The  poor  weak  child  will  need  her : 

O,  who  can  dare  complain, 
When  God  sends  a  new  Duty 

To  comfort  each  new  Pain ! 


m. 


HE  House  is  all  deserted 
In  the  evening  gloom, 
Only  one  figure  passes 

Slowly  from  room  to  room ; 
And,  pausing  at  each  doorway, 

Seems  gathering  up  again 
"Within  her  heart  the  relics 
Of  bygone  joy  and  pain. 


II. 

There  is  an  earnest  longing 

In  those  who  onward  gaze, 
Looking  with  wean-  patience 

Towards  the  coming  days. 
There  is  a  deeper  longing, 

More  sad,  more  strong,  more  keen : 
Those  know  it  who  look  backward, 

And  yearn  for  what  has  been. 


THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE,        287 

in. 

At  every  hearth  she  pauses, 

Touches  eacli  well-known  chair ; 
Gazes  from  every  window, 

Lingers  on  every  stair. 
What  have  these  months  brought  Alice 

Now  one  more  year  is  past  1 
This  Christmas  Eve  shall  tell  us, 

The  third  one  and  the  last. 

IV. 

The  wilful,  wayward  Dora, 

In  those  first  weeks  of  grief, 
Could  seek  and  find  in  Alice 

Strength,  soothing,  and  relief. 
And  Alice  —  last  sad  comfort 

True  woman-heart  can  take  — 
Had  something  still  to  suffer 

And  bear  for  Herbert's  sake. 

v. 

Spring,  with  her  western  breezes, 

From  Indian  islands  bore 
To  Alice  news  that  Leonard 

Would  seek  his  home  once  more. 
What  was  it,  — joy,  or  sorrow  ? 

What  were  they,  —  hopes,  or  fears1 
That  flushed  her  cheeks  with  crimson, 

And  filled  her  eyes  with  tears  1 

VI. 

He  came.     And  who  so  kindly 
Could  ask  and  hear  her  tell 


288         THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE. 

Herbert's  last  hours  ;  for  Leonard 
Had  known  and  loved  him  well. 

Daily  he  came  ;  and  Alice, 
Poor  weary  heart,  at  length, 

"Weighed  down  by  others'  weakness, 
Could  lean  upon  his  strength. 

VII. 

Yet  not  the  voice  of  Leonard 

Could  her  true  care  beguile, 
That  turned  to  watch,  rejoicing, 

Dora's  reviving  smile. 
So,  from  that  little  household 

The  worst  gloom  passed  away, 
The  one  bright  hour  of  evening 

Lit  up  the  livelong  day. 

VIII. 

Days  passed.     The  golden  summer 

In  sudden  heat  bore  down 
Its  blue,  bright,  glowing  sweetness 

Upon  the  scorching  town. 
And  sights  and  sounds  of  country 

Came  in  the  warm  soft  tune 
Sung  by  the  honeyed  breezes 

Borne  on  the  wings  of  June. 


IX. 

One  twilight  hour,  but  earlier 
Than  usual,  Alice  thought 

She  knew  the  fresh  sweet  fragrance 
Of  flowers  that  Leonard  brought ; 


THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE.        289 

Through  opened  doors  and  windows 
It  stole  up  through  the  gloom, 

And  with  appealing  sweetness 
Drew  Alice  from  her  room. 

x. 

Yes,  he  was  there  ;  and,  pausing 

Just  near  the  opened  door, 
To  check  her  heart's  quick  beating, 

She  heard  —  and  paused  still  more  — 
His  low  voice  —  Dora's  answers  — 

His  pleading  —  Yes,  she  knew 
The  tone  —  the  words  —  the  accents  ; 

She  once  had  heard  them  too. 

XI. 

"  Would  Alice  blame  her !  "     Leonard's 

Low,  tender  answer  came  : 
"  Alice  was  far  too  noble 

To  think  or  dream  of  blame." 
"  And  was  he  sure  he  loved  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  the  one  love  given 
Once  in  a  lifetime  only, 

With  one  soul  and  one  heaven ! " 

XII. 

Then  came  a  plaintive  murmur,  — 

"  Dora  had  once  been  told 
That  he  and  Alice  —  "     "  Dearest, 

Alice  is  far  too  cold 
To  love ;  and  I,  my  Dora, 

If  once  I  fancied  so, 
It  was  a  brief  delusion, 

And  over  —  long  ago." 

19 


190 


THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE. 

XIII. 

Between  the  Past  and  Present, 

On  that  bleak  moment's  height, 
She  stood.     As  some  lost  traveller, 

By  a  quick  flash  of  light 
Seeing  a  gulf  before  him, 

With  dizzy,  sick  despair, 
Reels  backward,  but  to  find  it 

A  deeper  chasm  there. 

XIV. 

The  twilight  grew  still  darker, 

The  fragrant  flowers  more  sweet, 
The  stars  shone  out  in  heaven, 

The  lamps  gleamed  down  the  street ; 
And  hours  passed  in  dreaming 

Over  their  new-found  fate, 
Ere  they  could  think  of  wondering 

"Why  Alice  was  so  late. 

xv. 

She  came,  and  calmly  listened; 

In  vain  they  strove  to  trace 
If  Herbert's  memory  shadowed 

In  grief  upon  her  face. 
No  blame,  no  wonder  showed  there, 

No  feeling  could  be  told  ; 
Her  voice  was  not  less  steady, 

Her  manner  not  more  cold. 

XVI. 

They  could  not  hear  the  anguish 
That  broke  in  words  of  pain 


THREE  EVENINGS  IN  A  LIFE.        291 

Through  the  calm  summer  midnight,  — 

"  My  Herbert  —  mine  again  !  " 
Yes,  they  have  once  been  parted, 

Buc  this  day  shall  restore 
The  long-lost  one  :  she  claims  him  : 

"  My  Herbert  —  mine  once  more  !  " 

XVII. 

Now  Christmas  Eve  returning 

Saw  Alice  stand  beside 
The  altar,  greeting  Dora, 

Again  a  smiling  bride  ; 
And  now  the  gloomy  evening 

Sees  Alice  pale  and  worn, 
Leaving  the  house  forever, 

To  wander  out  forlorn. 


XVIII. 

Forlorn — nay,  not  so.     Anguish 

Shall  do  its  work  at  length ; 
Her  soul,  passed  through  the  fire, 

Shall  gain  still  purer  strength. 
Somewhere  there  waits  for  Alice 

An  earnest,  noble  part ; 
And  meanwhile  God  is  with  her,— 

God,  and  her  own  true  heart  1 


292 


THE  WIND. 


THE   WIND. 


HE  -wind  went  forth  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Loud  and  free; 
Foaming  waves  leapt  up  to  meet  it, 
Stately  pines  bowed  down  to  greet  it ; 
While  the  wailing  sea 
And  the  forest's  murmured  sigh 
Joined  the  cry 
Of  the  wind  that  swept  o'er  land  and  sea. 

The  wind  that  blew  upon  the  sea 
Fierce  and  free, 
Cast  the  bark  upon  the  shore, 
Whence  it  sailed  the  night  before 

Full  of  hope  and  glee ; 
And  the  cry  of  pain  and  death 
Was  but  a  breath, 
Through  the  wind  that  roared  upon  the  sea. 

The  wind  was  whispering  on  the  lea 
Tenderly ; 
But  the  white  rose  felt  it  pass, 
And  the  fragile  stalks  of  grass 

Shook  with  fear  to  see 
All  her  trembling  petals  shed, 
As  it  fled 
So  gently  by,  —  the  wind  upon  the  lea. 

Blow,  thou  wind,  upon  the  sea 
Fierce  and  free, 


EXPECT  A  TION. 

And  a  gentler  message  send, 

Where  frail  flowers  and  grasses  bend, 

On  the  sunny  lea  ; 
For  thy  bidding  still  is  one, 
Be  it  done 
In  tenderness  or  wrath,  on  land  or  sea  I 


293 


EXPECTATION. 


HE  lung's  three  daughters  stood  on  the 
terrace, 
The  hanging  terrace,  so  broad  and  green, 
Which  keeps  the  sea  from  the  marble 
Palace : 
There  was  Princess  May,  and  Princess  Alice, 
And  the  youngest  Princess,  Gwendoline. 

Sighed  Princess  May,  "  Will  it  last  much  longer, 
Time  throbs  so  slow  and  my  Heart  so  quick ; 
And  0  how  long  is  the  day  in  dying ! 
Weary  am  I  of  waiting  and  sighing, 
For  Hope  deferred  makes  the  spirit  sick." 

But  Princess  Gwendoline  smiled  and  kissed  her :  — 

"  Am  I  not  sadder  than  you,  my  Sister  1 

Expecting  joy  is  a  happy  pain. 

The  Future's  fathomless  mine  of  treasures, 

All  countless  hordes  of  possible  pleasures, 

Might  bring  their  store  to  my  feet  in  vain." 

Sighed  Princess  Alice  as  night  grew  nearer.— 
"  So  soon,  so  soon,  is  the  daylight  fled ! 


a94  AN  IDEAL. 

And  O  how  fast  comes  the  dark  to-morrow. 
Who  hides,  perhaps,  in  her  veil  of  sorrow 
The  terrible  hour  I  wait  and  dread  !  " 

But  Princess  Gwendoline  kissed  her,  sighing,  - 

"  It  is  only  Life  that  can  fear  dying  ; 

Possible  loss  means  possible  gain. 

Those  who  still  dread  are  not  quite  forsaken ; 

But  not  to  fear,  because  all  is  taken, 

Is  the  loneliest  depth  of  human  pain." 


AN  IDEAL. 


HTLE  the  gray  mists  of  early  dawn 
Were  lingering  round  the  hill, 
And  the  dew  was  still  upon  the  flowers, 
And  the  earth  lay  calm  and  still, 
A  winged  Spirit  came  to  me, 
Noble,  and  radiant,  and  free. 

Folding  his  blue  and  shining  wings, 

He  laid  his  hand  on  mine. 
1  know  not  if  I  felt,  or  heard 

The  mystic  word  divine, 
Which  woke  the  trembling  air  to  sighs, 
And  shone  from  out  his  starry  eyes. 

The  word  he  spoke  within  my  heart 

Stirred  life  unknown  before, 
And  cast  a  spell  upon  my  soul 

To  chain  it  evermore  ; 
Making  the  cold,  dull  earth  look  bright, 
And  skies  flame  out  in  sapphire  light. 


AN  IDEAL.  295 

When  noon  ruled  from  the  heavens,  and  man 

Through  busy  day  toiled  on, 
My  Spirit  drooped  his  shining  wings  ; 

His  radiant  smile  was  gone ; 
His  voice  had  ceased,  his  grace  had  flown, 
His  hand  grew  cold  within  my  own. 

Bitter,  O  bitter  tears  I  wept, 

Yet  still  I  held  his  hand, 
Hoping  with  vague  unreasoning  hope : 

I  would  not  understand 
That  this  pale  Spirit  nevermore 
Could  be  what  he  had  been  before. 

Could  it  be  so  ?     My  heart  stood  stilL 

Yet  he  was  by  my  side. 
I  strove  ;  but  my  despair  was  vain  ; 

Vain  too  was  love  and  pride, 
Could  he  have  changed  to  me  so  soon  ? 
My  day  was  only  at  its  noon. 

Now  stars  are  rising  one  by  one, 

Through  the  dim  evening  air ; 
Near  me  a  household  Spirit  waits, 

With  tender  loving  care; 
He  speaks  and  smiles,  but  never  sings, 
Long  since  he  lost  his  shining  wings. 

With  thankful,  true  content,  I  know 

This  is  the  better  way ; 
Is  not  a  faithful  spirit  mine  — 

Mine  still  —  at  close  of  day  ?  .  .  .  . 
Yet  will  my  foolish  heart  repine 
For  that  bright  morning  dream  of  mine. 


296  OUR  DEAD. 


OUR  DEAD. 

OTHING    is   our  own :    we   hold   oat 
pleasures 
Just  a  little  while,  ere  they  are  fled : 
One  hy  one  life  robs  us  of  our  treasures  ; 
Nothing  is  our  own  except  our  Dead. 

They  are  ours,  and  hold  in  faithful  keeping, 
Safe  forever,  all  they  took  away. 
Cruel  life  can  never  stir  that  sleeping, 
Cruel  time  can  never  seize  that  prey. 

Justice  pales ;  truth  fades  ;  stars  fall  from  heaven ; 
Human  are  the  great  whom  we  revere  : 
No  true  crown  of  honor  can  be  given, 
Till  we  place  it  on  a  funeral  bier. 

How  the  Children  leave  us  :  and  no  traces 
Linger  of  that  smiling  angel  band  ; 
Gone,  forever  gone  ;  and  in  their  places 
Weary  men  and  anxious  women  stand. 

Yet  we  have  some  little  ones,  still  ours ; 
They  have  kept  the  baby  smile  we  know, 
Which  we  kissed  one  day,  and  hid  with  flowers, 
On  their  dead  white  faces,  long  ago. 

When  our  Joy  is  lost  —  and  life  will  take  it  — 
Then  no  memory  of  the  past  remains  ; 
Save  with  some  strange,  cruel  sting,  to  make  it 
Bitterness  beyond  all  present  pains. 


A   WOMAN' S  ANSWER. 


297 


Death,  more  tender-hearted,  leaves  to  sorrow 
Still  the  radiant  shadow,  fond  regret : 
We  shall  find,  in  some  far,  bright  to-morrow, 
Joy  that  he  has  taken,  living  yet. 

Is  Love  ours,  and  do  we  dream  wc  know  it, 
Bound  with  all  our  heart-strings,  all  our  own  ? 
Any  cold  and  cruel  dawn  may  show  it, 
Shattered,  desecrated,  overthrown. 

Only  the  dead  Hearts  forsake  us  never ; 
Death's  last  kiss  has  been  the  mystic  sign 
Consecrating  Love  our  own  forever, 
Crowning  it  eternal  and  divine. 

So  when  Fate  would  fain  besiege  our  city, 
Dim  our  gold,  or  make  our  flowers  fall, 
Death,  the  Angel,  comes  in  love  and  pity, 
And,  to  save  our  treasures,  claims  them  all. 


A   WOMAN'S   ANSWEK. 

WILL  not  let  you  say  a  Woman's  part 

Must  be  to  give  exclusive  love  alone  ; 

Dearest,  although  I   love  you   so,   my 

heart 


Answers  a  thousand  claims  besides  your  own. 


I  iove  —  what  do  I  not  love  1  earth  and  air 

Find  space  within  my  heart,  and  myriad  things 

You  would  not  deign  to  heed  are  cherished  there, 
And  vibrate  on  its  very  inmost  strings. 


a98  A   WOMAN'S  ANSWER. 

I  love  the  Summer  with  her  ebh  and  flow 

Of  light,  and  warmth,  and  music,  that  have  nurst 

Her  tender  buds  to  blossoms  .  .  .  and  you  know 
It  was  in  summer  that  I  saw  you  first. 

I  love  the  "Winter  dearly  too,  ....  but  then 
I  owe  it  so  much  ;   on  a  winter's  day, 

Bleak,  cold,  and  stormy,  you  returned  again, 
When  you  had  been  those  weary  months  away. 

I  love  the  Stars  like  friends  ;  so  many  nights 
I  gazed  at  them,  when  you  were  far  from  me, 

Till  I  grew  blind  with  tears  ....  those  far-off  lights 
Could  watch  you,  whom  I  longed  in  vain  to  see. 

I  love  the  Flowers  ;  happy  hours  lie 

Shut  up  within  their  petals  close  and  fast : 

You  have  forgotten,  clear  ;  but  they  and  I 
Keep  every  fragment  of  the  golden  Past. 

I  love,  too,  to  be  loved  ;  all  loving  praise 

Seems  like  a  crown  upon  my  Life,  —  to  make 

It  better  worth  the  giving,  and  to  raise 

Still  nearer  to  your  own  the  heart  you  take. 

I  love  all  good  and  noble  souls  ;  —  I  heard 
One  speak  of  you  but  lately,  and  for  days, 

Only  to  think  of  it,  my  soul  was  stirred 
In  tender  memory  of  such  generous  praise. 

I  love  all  those  who  love  you  ;  all  who  owe 
Comfort  to  vou  :  and  I  can  find  rejrret 

Even  for  those  poorer  hearts  who  once  could  know 
And  once  could  love  you,  and  can  now  forget 


THE  FAITIIFUL  SOUL.  299 

"Well,  is  my  heart  so  narrow,  —  I,  who  spare 
Love  for  all  these  1     Do  I  not  even  hold 

My  favorite  books  in  special  tender  care, 
And  prize  them  as  a  miser  does  his  gold  1 

The  Poets  that  you  used  to  read  to  me 
While  summer  twilights  faded  in  the  sky ; 

But  most  of  all  I  think  Aurora  Leigh, 

Because  —  because  —  do  you  remember  why  ? 

Will  you  be  jealous  3     Did  you  guess  before 

I  loved  so  many  things  ?  —  Still  you  the  best :  — 

Dearest,  remember  that  I  love  you  more, 
O  more  a  thousand  times,  than  all  the  rest ! 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  FAITHFUL  SOUL. 

FOUNDED  ON  AN  OLD  FRENCH  LEGEND. 

HE  fettered  Spirits  linger 

In  purgatorial  pain, 

With  penal  fires  effacing 

Their  last  faint  earthly  stain, 
Which  Life's  imperfect  sorrow 
Had  tried  to  cleanse  in  vain. 

Yet,  on  each  feast  of  Mary 

Their  sorrow  finds  release, 
For  the  Great  Archangel  Michael 

Comes  down  and  bids  it  cease  ; 
And  the  name  of  these  brief  respites 

Is  called  "  Our  Lady's  Peace." 


300  THE  FAITHFUL  SOUL. 

Yet  once  —  so  runs  the  Legend 

When  the  Archangel  came, 

And  all  these  holy  spirits 
Rejoiced  at  Mary's  name, 

One  voice  alone  was  wailing, 
Still  wailing  on  the  same. 

And  though  a  great  Te  Deum 
The  happy  echoes  woke, 

This  one  discordant  wailing 

Through  the  sweet  voices  broke- : 

So  when  St.  Michael  questioned, 
Thus  the  poor  spirit  spoke :  — 

"  I  am  not  cold  or  thankless, 
Although  I  still  complain; 

I  prize  Our  Lady's  blessing, 
Although  it  comes  in  vain 

To  still  my  bitter  anguish, 
Or  quench  my  ceaseless  pain. 

"  On  earth  a  heart  that  loved  me 
Still  lives  and  mourns  me  there, 

And  the  shadow  of  his  anguish 
Is  more  than  I  can  bear  ; 

All  the  torment  that  I  suffer 
Is  the  thought  of  his  despair. 

"  The  evening  of  my  bridal 
Death  took  my  Life  away  ; 

Not  all  Love's  passionate  pleading 
Could  gain  an  hour's  delay. 

And  he  I  left  has  suffered 
A  whole  year  since  that  day. 


THE  FAITHFUL   SOUL.  301 

"  If  I  could  only  sec  him,  — 

If  I  could  only  go 
And  speak  one  word  of  comfort 

And  solace,  —  then  I  know 
He  would  endure  with  patience, 

And  strive  against  his  woe." 

Thus  the  Archangel  answered  :  — 

"  Your  time  of  pain  is  brief, 
And  soon  the  peace  of  Heaven 

Will  give  you  full  relief; 
Yet  if  his  earthly  comfort 

So  much  outweighs  your  grief, 

"  Then  through  a  special  mercy 

I  offer  you  this  grace,  — 
You  may  seek  him  who  mourns  you, 

And  look  upon  his  face, 
And  speak  to  him  of  comfort 

For  one  short  minute's  space. 

"  But  when  that  time  is  ended, 

Return  here,  and  remain 
A  thousand  years  in  torment, 

A  thousand  years  in  pain  : 
Thus  dearly  must  you  purchase 

The  comfort  he  will  gain." 


The  Lime-trees'  shade  at  evening 
Is  spreading  broad  and  wide ; 

Beneath  their  fragrant  arches, 
Pace  slowly,  side  by  side, 

In  low  and  tender  converse, 
A  Bridegroom  and  his  Bride. 


302  THE  FAITHFUL  SOUL. 

The  night  is  calm  and  stilly, 
No  other  sound  is  there 

Except  their  happy  voices  :  — 
What  is  that  cold  bleak  air 

That  passes  through  the  Lime-trees, 
And  stirs  the  Bridegroom's  hair  ? 

While  one  low  cry  of  anguish, 
Like  the  last  dying  wail 

Of  some  dumb,  hunted  creature, 
Is  borne  upon  the  gale  :  — 

Why  does  the  Bridegroom  shudder 
And  turn  so  deathly  pale  ? 


Near  Purgatory's  entrance 
The  radiant  Angels  wait ; 

It  was  the  great  St.  Michael 
Who  closed  that  gloomy  gate, 

When  the  poor  wandering  spirit 
Came  back  to  meet  her  fate. 

"  Pass  on,"  thus  spoke  the  Angel : 
"  Heaven's  joy  is  deep  and  vast ; 

Pass  on,  pass  on,  poor  Spirits 
For  Heaven  is  yours  at  last ; 

In  that  one  minute's  anguish 

Your  thousand  years  have  passed.* 


A    CONTRAST.  303 


A   CONTRAST. 

AN  you  open  that  ebony  Casket  1 
Look,  this  is  the  key :  but  stay, 
Those  are  only  a  few  old  letters 
That  I  keep,  —  to  burn  some  day. 

Yes,  that  Locket  is  quaint  and  ancient ; 

But  leave  it,  dear,  with  the  ring, 
And  give  me  the  little  Portrait 

Which  hangs  by  a  crimson  string. 

I  have  never  opened  that  Casket 

Since,  many  long  years  ago, 
It  was  sent  me  back  in  anger 

By  one  whom  I  used  to  know. 

But  I  want  you  to  see  the  Portrait : 

I  wonder  if  you  can  trace 
A  look  of  that  smiling  creature 

Left  now  in  my  faded  face. 

It  was  like  me  once  ;  but  remember 

The  weary,  relentless  years, 
And  Life,  with  its  fierce  brief  tempests, 

And  its  long,  long  rain  of  tears. 

Is  it  strange  to  call  it  my  Portrait  ? 

Nay,  smile,  dear,  for  well  you  may, 
To  think  of  that  radiant  Vision 

And  of  what  I  am  to-day. 


3o4  A    CONTRAST. 

With  restless,  jet  confident  longing, 
How  those  blue  eyes  seem  to  gaze 

Into  deep  and  exhaustless  treasures, 
All  hid  in  the  coming  days. 

With  that  trust  which  leans  on  the  Future, 
And  counts  on  her  promised  store, 

Until  she  lias  taught  us  to  tremble 
And  hope,  —  but  to  trust  no  more. 

How  that  young,  light  heart  would  have  pitied 
Me  now  —  if  her  dreams  had  shown 

A  quiet  and  weary  woman 
With  all  her  illusions  flown. 

Yet  I  —  who  shall  soon  be  resting, 
And  have  passed  the  hardest  part  — 

Can  look  back  with  a  deeper  pity 
On  that  young,  unconscious  heart. 

It  is  strange ;   but  Life's  currents  drift  us 

So  surely  and  swiftly  on, 
That  we  scarcely  notice  the  changes, 

And  how  many  things  are  gone  : 

And  forget,  while  to-day  absorbs  us, 
How  old  mysteries  arc  unsealed  ; 

How  the  old,  old  ties  arc  loosened, 
And  the  old,  old  wounds  are  healed. 

And  we  say  that  our  Life  is  fleeting 
Like  a  story  that  Time  has  told ; 

But  we  fancy  that  we  —  we  only  — 
Are  just  what  we  were  of  old. 


THE  BRIDES  DREAM. 

So  now  and  then  it  is  wisdom 
To  gaze,  as  I  do  to-day, 

At  a  half-forgotten  relic 

Of  a  Time  that  is  passed  away. 

The  very  look  of  that  Portrait, 
The  perfume  that  seems  to  cling 

To  those  fragile  and  faded  letters, 
And  the  Locket,  and  the  Ring, 

If  they  only  stirred  in  my  spirit 
Forgotten  pleasure  and  pain,  — 

Why,  memory  is  often  hitter, 
And  almost  always  in  vain ; 

But  the  contrast  of  bygone  hours 
Comes  to  rend  a  veil  away,  — 

And  I  marvel  to  sec  the  stranger 
Who  is  living  in  me  to-day. 


3°S 


THE  BRIDE'S   DREAM. 


HE  stars  are  gleaming  ; 
The  maiden  sleeps,  — 
What  is  she  dreaming  ? 
For  sec  —  she  weeps. 
By  her  side  is  an  Angel 

With  folded  wings ; 
While  the  Maiden  slumbers, 

The  Angel  sings : 
He  sings  of  a  Bridal, 
Of  Love,  of  pain, 

20 


3o6  THE  BRIDES  DREAM. 

Of  a  heart  to  be  given,  — 

And  all  in  vain  ; 
(See,  her  cheek  is  flashing, 

As  if  with  pain  ;) 
He  telleth  of  sorrow, 

Regrets  and  fears, 
And  the  few  vain  pleasures 

We  buy  with  tears ; 
And  the  bitter  lesson 

We  learn  from  years. 

The  stars  are  gleaming 

Upon  her  brow : 
What  is  she  dreaming 

So  calmly  now  1 
By  her  side  is  the  Angel 

With  folded  wings ; 
She  smiles  in  her  slumber 

The  while  he  sings. 
He  sings  of  a  Bridal, 

Of  Love  divine ; 
Of  a  heart  to  be  laid 

On  a  sacred  shrine  ; 
Of  a  crown  of  glory, 

Where  seraphs  shine ; 
Of  the  deep,  long  rapture 

The  chosen  know 
Who  forsake  for  Heaven 

Vain  joys  below, 
Who  desire  no  pleasure, 

And  fear  no  woe. 

The  Bells  are  ringing, 
The  sun  shines  clear, 


TEE  A.  JEVS  BIDDING.  307 

The  Choir  is  singing, 

The  guests  arc  here. 
Before  the  High  Altar 

Behold  the  Bride ; 
And  a  mournful  Angel 

Is  by  her  side. 
She  smiles,  all  content 

With  her  chosen  lot,  — 
(Is  her  last  night's  dreaming 

So  soon  forgot?) 
And  oh,  may  the  Angel 

Forsake  her  not ! 
For  on  her  small  hand 

There  glitters  plain 
The  first  sad  link 

Of  a  life-long  chain  ;  — 
And  she  needs  his  guiding 

Through  paths  of  pain. 


THE  ANGEL'S  BIDDING. 

'  OT  a  sound  is  heard  in  the  Convent ; 
The  Vesper  Chant  is  sung, 
The  sick  have  all  been  tended, 
The  poor  nun's  toils  are  ended 
Till  the  Matin  bell  has  rung. 
All  is  still,  save  the  Clock,  that  is  ticking 
So  loud  in  the  frosty  air, 
And  the  soft  snow,  falling  as  gently 
As  an  answer  to  a  prayer. 

But  an  Angel  whispers,  "  O  Sister, 
You  must  rise  from  your  bed  to  pray : 


3o8  THE  ANGEL'S  BIDDING. 

In  the  silent,  deserted  chapel, 
You  must  kneel  till  the  dawn  of  day  ; 
For,  far  on  the  desolate  moorland, 
So  dreary,  and  hleak,  and  white, 
There  is  one,  all  alone  and  helpless, 
In  peril  of  death  to-night. 

"No  sound  on  the  moorland  to  guide  him, 

No  star  in  the  murky  air  ; 
And  he  thinks  of  his  home  and  his  loved  ones 

With  the  tenderness  of  despair  ; 
He  has  wandered  for  hours  in  the  snow-drift, 

And  he  strives  to  stand  in  vain, 
And  so  lies  down  to  dream  of  his  children, 
And  never  to  rise  again. 

Then  kneel  in  the  silent  chapel 

Till  the  dawn  of  to-morrow's  sun, 

And  ask  of  the  Lord  you  worship 

For  the  life  of  that  desolate  one ; 

And  the  smiling  eyes  of  his  cliildren 

Will  gladden  his  heart  again, 

And  the  grateful  tears  of  God's  poor  ones 

Will  fall  on  your  soul  like  rain  !  — 

"  Yet,  leave  him  alone  to  perish, 

And  the  grace  of  your  God  implore, 
With  all  the  strength  of  your  spirit, 

For  one  who  needs  it  more. 
Far  away,  in  the  gleaming  city, 

Amid  perfume,  and  song,  and  light, 
A  soul  that  Jesus  has  ransomed 

Is  in  peril  of  sin  to-night. 
The  Tempter  is  close  beside  him, 

And  his  danger  is  all  forgot, 


SPRING.  3o? 

And  the  far-off  voices  of  childhood 
Call  aloud,  but  he  hears  them  not ; 

Ke  sayeth  no  prayer,  and  his  mother  — 
He  thinks  not  of  her  to-day, 

And  he  will  not  look  up  to  heaven, 
And  his  Angel  is  turning  away. 

"  Then  pray  for  a  soul  in  peril, 

A  soul  for  which  Jesus  died  ; 
Ask,  by  the  cross  that  bore  Ilim, 

And  by  her  who  stood  beside  ; 
And  the  Angels  of  God  will  thank  yn, 

And  bend  from  their  thrones  of  lights 
To  tell  you  that  heaven  rejoices 

At  the  deed  you  have  done  to-night.'' 


SPRING. 

ARK !  the  hours  are  softly  calling 
Bidding  Spring  arise, 
To  listen  to  the  rain-drops  falling 
From  the  cloudy  skies, 
To  listen  to  Earth's  weary  voices, 

Louder  every  day, 
Bidding  her  no  longer  linger 

On  her  charmed  way  ; 
But  hasten  to  her  task  of  beauty 

Scarcely  yet  began  ; 
By  the  first  bright  day  of  Summer 

It  should  all  be  done. 
She  has  yet  to  loose  the  fountain 
From  its  iron  chain ; 


3io  SPRING. 

And  to  make  the  barren  mountain 

Green  and  bright  again ; 
She  must  clear  the  snow  that  lingers 

Eound  the  stalks  away, 
And  let  the  snowdrops'  trembling  whiteness 

See  the  light  of  day. 
She  must  watch,  and  warm,  and  cherish 

Every  blade  of  green, 
Till  the  tender  grass  appearing 

From  the  earth  is  seen ; 
She  must  bring  the  golden  crocus 

From  her  hidden  store  ; 
She  must  spread  broad  showers  of  daisies 

Each  day  more  and  more. 
In  each  hedgerow  she  must  hasten 

Cowslips  sweet  to  set ; 
Primroses  in  rich  profusion, 

With  bright  dew-drops  wet, 
And  under  every  leaf,  in  shadow 

Hide  a  violet ! 
Every  tree  within  the  forest 

Must  be  decked  anew ; 
And  the  tender  buds  of  promise 

Should  be  peeping  through, 
Folded  deep,  and  almost  hidden, 

Leaf  by  leaf  beside, 
WTiat  will  make  the  Summer's  glory, 

And  the  Autumn's  pride. 
6he  must  weave  the  loveliest  carpets, 

Checkered  sun  and  shade, 
Every  wood  must  have  such  pathways, 

Laid  in  every  glade ; 
She  must  hang  laburnum  branches 

On  each  arched  bough  ;  — 


EVENING  HYMN.  311 

And  the  white  and  purple  lilac 

Should  be  waving  now ; 
She  must  breathe,  and  cold  winds  vanish 

At  her  breath  away  ; 
And  then  load  the  air  around  her 

With  the  scent  of  May  ! 
Listen  then,  0  Spring !  nor  linger 

On  thy  charmed  way; 
Have  pity  on  thy  prisoned  flowers 

Wearying  for  the  day. 
Listen  to  the  rain-drops  falling 

From  the  cloudy  skies ; 
Listen  to  the  hours  calling, 

Bidding  thee  arise. 


EVENING  HYMN. 

HE  shadows  of  the  evening  hours 
Fall  from  the  darkening  sky ; 
Upon  the  fragrance  of  the  floweri 
The  dews  of  evening  lie : 
Before  thy  throne,  O  Lord  of  heaven, 

We  kneel  at  close  of  day ; 
Look  on  thy  children  from  on  high, 
And  hear  us  while  we  pray. 

The  sorrows  of  thy  servants,  Lord, 

O  do  not  thou  despise ; 
But  let  the  incense  of  our  prayers 

Before  thy  mercy  rise ; 
The  brightness  of  the  coming  night 

Upon  the  darkness  rolls  : 


3i* 


THE  INNER   CHAMBER. 

"With  hopes  of  future  glory  chase 
The  shadows  on  our  souls. 

Slowly  the  rays  of  daylight  fade ; 

So  fade  within  our  heart 
The  hopes  in  earthly  love  and  joy, 

That  one  by  one  depart : 
Slowly  the  bright  6tars,  one  by  one, 

Within  the  heavens  shine ;  — 
Give  us,  0  Lord,  fresh  hopes  in  Heaven, 

And  trust  in  things  divine. 

Let  peace,  O  Lord,  thy  peace,  0  God, 

Upon  our  souls  descend  ; 
From  midnight  fears  and  perils,  thou 

Our  trembling  hearts  defend ; 
Give  us  a  respite  from  our  toil, 

Calm  and  subdue  our  woes ; 
Tlirough  the  long  day  we  suffer,  Lord, 

0  give  us  now  repose  ! 


THE  INNER  CHAMBER. 


N  the  outer  Court  I  was  singing, 
Was  singing  the  whole  day  long  ; 
From  the  inner  chamber  were  ringing 
Echoes  repeating  my  song. 


And  I  sang  till  it  grew  immortal ; 

For  that  very  song  of  mine, 
When  re-echoed  behind  the  Portal, 

Was  filled  with  a  life  divine. 


TUE  INNER    CHAMBER.  313 

Was  the  Chamber  a  silver  round 

Of  arches,  whose  magical  art 
Drew  in  coils  of  musical  sound, 

And  cast  them  back  on  my  heart « 

"Was  there  hidden  within  a  lyre 

Wliich,  as  air  breathed  over  its  strings, 

Filled  my  song  with  a  soul  of  fire, 
Aud  sent  back  my  words  with  wings  * 

Was  some  seraph  imprisoned  there, 

Whose  Voice  made  my  song  complete, 

And  whose  lingering,  soft  despair 
Made  the  echo  so  faint  and  sweet  1 

Long  I  trembled  and  paused,  —  then  parted 
The  curtains  with  heavy,  fringe  ; 

And,  half  fearing,  yet  eager-hearted, 
Turned  the  door  on  its  golden  hinge. 

Now  I  sing  in  the  court  once  more, 

I  sing  and  I  weep  all  day, 
As  I  kneel  by  the  close-shut  door, 

For  I  know  what  the  echoes  say. 

Yet  I  sing  not  the  song  of  old, 

Ere  I  knew  whence  the  echo  came, 

Ere  I  opened  the  door  of  ^old  ; 

But  the  music  sounds  just  the  same. 

Then  take  warning,  and  turn  away  ; 

Do  not  ask  of  that  hidden  thing, 
Do  not  guess  what  the  echoes  say, 

Or  the  meaning  of  what  I  sing. 


314  HEARTS. 

HEARTS. 
L 


TRINKET  made  like  a  Heart,  dear, 
Of  red  gold,  bright  and  fine 

Was  given  to  me  for  a  keepsake, 
Given  to  me  for  mine. 


And  another  heart,  warm  and  tender, 
As  true  as  a  heart  could  be ; 

And  every  throb  that  stirred  it 
Was  always  and  all  for  me. 

Sailing  over  the  waters, 

Watching  the  far  blue  land, 

I  dropped  my  golden  heart,  dear, 
Dropped  it  out  of  my  hand  ! 

It  lies  in  the  cold,  blue  waters, 
Fathoms  and  fathoms  deep, 

The  golden  heart  which  I  promised, 
Promised  to  prize  and  keep. 

Gazing  at  Life's  bright  visions, 
So  false,  and  fair,  and  new, 

I  forgot  the  other  heart,  dear, 
Eorgot  it  and  lost  it  too!- 

I  might  seek  that  heart  forever, 
I  might  seek  and  seek  in  vain ;  — 

And  for  one  short,  careless  hour, 
I  pay  with  a  life  of  pain 


HEARTS.  315 

II. 

HE  Heart  ?  —  Yes,  I  wore  it 
As  sign  and  as  token 
Of  a  love  that  once  gave  it, 
A  vow  that  was  spoken ; 
But  a  love,  and  a  vow,  and  a  heart 
Can  be  broken. 

The  Love  ?  —  Life  and  Death 

Are  crushed  into  a  day, 
So  what  wonder  that  Love 

Should  as  soon  pass  away,  — 
What  wonder  I  saw  it 

Fade,  fail,  and  decay  1 

The  Vow  1  —  why  what  was  it  ? 

It  snapped  like  a  thread ; 
Who  cares  for  the  corpse 

When  the  spirit  is  fled  ? 
Then  I  said,  "Let  the  Dead  rise 

And  bury  its  dead, 

«  While  the  true,  living  future 
Grows  pure,  wise,  and  strong." 

So  I  cast  the  gold  heart 
I  had  worn  for  so  long 

In  the  Lake,  and  bound  on  it 
A  Stone  —  and  a  Wrong ! 


316 


TWO  LOVES. 


III. 

OOK,  this  little  golden  Heart 
Was  a  true-love  shrine 
For  a  tress  of  hair ;  I  held  them, 
Heart  and  tress,  as  mine, 
Like  the  Love  which  gave  the  token :  — 
See,  to-day  the  Heart  is  broken  ! 

Broken  is  the  golden  heart, 

Lost  the  tress  of  hair ; 
Ah,  the  shrine  is  empty,  vacant, 

Desolate  and  bare  ! 
So  the  token  should  depart, 
When  Love  dies  within  the  heart. 

Fast  and  deep  the  river  floweth, 

Floweth  to  the  west ; 
I  will  cast  the  golden  trinket 

In  its  cold  dark  breast :  — 
Flow,  0  river,  deep  and  fast. 
Over  all  the  buried  past ! 


TWO  LOVES. 

EEP  within  my  heart  of  hearts,  dear, 
Bound  with  all  its  strings, 
Two  Loves  arc  together  reigning, 
Both  are  crowned  like  kings ; 
While  my  life,  still  uncomplaining, 
Rests  beneath  their  wings. 


TWO  LOVES.  317 

So  they  both  will  rule  my  heart,  dear, 

Till  it  cease  to  beat ; 
No  sway  can  be  deeper,  stronger, 

Truer,  more  complete ; 
Growing,  as  it  lasts  the  longer. 

Sweeter,  and  more  sweet. 

One  all  life  and  time  transfigures  ; 

Piercing  through  and  through 
Meaner  things  with  magic  splendor, 

Old,  yet  ever  new  : 
This  —  so  strong  and  yet  so  tender  — 

Is  .  .  .  my  Love  for  you. 

Should  it  fail,  —  forgive  my  doubting 

In  this  world  of  pain,  — 
Yet  my  other  Love  would  ever 

Steadfastly  remain ; 
And  I  know  that  I  could  never 

Turn  to  that  in  vain. 

Though  its  radiance  may  be  fainter. 

Yet  its  task  is  wide ; 
For  it  lives  to  comfort  sorrows, 

Strengthen,  calm,  and  guide, 
And  from  Trust  and  Honor  borrows 

All  its  peace  and  pride. 

Will  you  blame  my  dreaming,  even 

If  the  first  were  flown  ? 
Ah,  I  would  not  live  without  it, 

It  is  all  your  own  : 
And  the  other  —  can  you  doubt  it  ?  — 

Yours,  and  yours  alone. 


2i 8  A  WOMAN'S  LAST   WORD. 


A  WOMAN'S   LAST   WORD. 

ELL  —  the  links  are  broken, 
All  is  past ; 
This  farewell,  when  spoken, 
Is  the  last. 
I  have  tried  and  striven 

All  in  vain ; 
Such  bonds  must  be  riven, 

Spite  of  pain, 
And  never,  never,  never 
Knit  again. 

So  I  tell  you  plainly, 

It  must  be : 
I  shall  try,  not  vainly, 

To  be  free ; 
Truer,  happier  chances 

Wait  me  yet, 
While  you,  through  fresh  fancies, 

Can  forget ;  — 
And  life  has  nobler  uses 

Than  Regret. 

All  past  words  retracing, 

One  by  one, 
Does  not  help  effacing 

What  is  done. 
Let  it  be.     O,  stronger 

Links  can  break ! 
Had  we  dreamed  still  longer 

We  could  wake,  — 


PAST  AND  PRESENT.  3i9 

Yet  let  us  part  in  kindness 
For  Love's  sake. 

Bitterness  and  sorrow 

Will  at  last, 
In  some  bright  to-morrow, 

Heal  their  past ; 
But  future  hearts  will  never 

Be  as  true 
As  mine  was  —  is  ever, 

Dear,  for  you 

.  .  Then  must  we  part,  when  loving 

As  we  do  ? 


PAST  AND  PRESENT. 


fINGER,"    I  cried,    «0  radiant  Time! 
thy  power 
Has  nothing  more  to  give  ;  life  is  com- 
plete : 
jet  but  the  perfect  Present,  hour  by  hour, 
Itself  remember  and  itself  repeat. 

"  And  Love,  —  the  future  can  but  mar  its  splendor, 
Change  can  but  dim  the  glory  of  its  youth  ; 
Time  has  no  star  more  faithful  or  more  tender 
To  crown  its  constancy  or  light  its  truth." 

But  Time  passed  on  in  spite  of  prayer  or  pleading, 
Through  storm  and  peril ;  but  that  life  might  gain 


3ZO 


FOR    THE  FUTURE. 


A  Peace  through  strife  all  other  peace  exceeding, 
Fresh  joy  from  sorrow,  and  new  hope  from  pain. 

And  since  Love  lived  when  all  save  Love  was  dying, 
And,  passed  through  fire,  grew  stronger  than  he- 
fore  :  — 
Dear,  you  know  why,  in  double  faith  relying, 
I  prize  the  Past  much,  but  the  Present  more. 


FOR   THE  FUTURE. 


WONDER  did  you  ever  count 
The  value  of  one  human  fate ; 
Or  sum  the  infinite  amount 


MM 

^fc*te.yJSl  Of  one  heart's  treasures,  and  the  weight 
Of  Life's  one  venture,  and  the  whole  concentrate  pur- 
pose of  a  soul. 

And  if  you  ever  paused  to  think 
That  all  this  in  your  hands  I  laid 
"Without  a  fear  :  — did  you  not  shrink 
From  such  a  burden  1  half  afraid, 
Half  wishing  that  you  could  divide  the  risk,  or  cast 
it  all  aside. 


While  Love  has  daily  perils,  such 
As  none  foresee  and  none  control ; 
And  hearts  are  strung  so  that  one  touch, 
Careless  or  rough,  may  jar  the  whole, 
You  well  might  feel  afraid  to  reign  with  absolute 
power  of  joy  and  pain. 


FOR    TTIE  FUTURE.  321 

You  well  might  fear  —  if  Love's  sole  claim 
Were  to  lie  happy  :  but  true  Love 
Takes  joy  as  solace,  not  as  aim, 
And  looks  beyond,  and  looks  above  ; 
And  sometimes  through  the  bitterest  strife  first  learnj 
to  live  her  highest  life. 

Earth  forges  joy  into  a  chain 
Till  fettered  Love  forgets  its  strength, 
Its  purpose,  and  its  end  ;  —  but  Pain 
Restores  its  heritage  at  length, 
And  bids  Love  rise  again  and  be  eternal,  mighty, 
pure,  and  free. 

If  then  your  future  life  should  need 
A  strength  my  Love  can  only  gain 
Through  suffering,  or  my  heart  be  need 
Only  by  sorrow  from  some  stain, 
Then  you  shall  give,  and  I  will  take,  this  Crown 
of  fire  for  Love's  dear  sake. 

Sept.  8th,  i860. 


ZI 


PUBLISHED  FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF 

THE    PROVIDENCE   ROW  NIGHT  REFUGE 

FOR 

HOMELESS  WOMEN  AND  CHILDREN. 

-CS)oCS>- 


'M 


iMw< 


A    CHAPLET    OF    VERSES. 


o?x>a> 


HERE  is  scarcely  any  charitable  insti- 
tution which  should  excite  such  uni- 
versal, such  unhesitating  sympathy,  as  a 
Night  Refuge  for  the  Homeless  Poor. 
A  shelter  through  the  bleak  winter  nights,  leave 
to  rest  in  some  poor  shed  instead  of  wandering 
through  the  pitiless  streets,  is  a  boon  we  could 
hardly  deny  to  a  starving  dog.  And  yet  we  have 
all  known  that  in  this  country,  in  this  town,  many 
of  our  miserable  fellow-creatures  were  pacing  the 
streets  through  the  long  weary  nights,  without  a 
roof  to  shelter  them,  without  food  to  eat,  with  their 
poor  rags  soaked  in  rain,  and  only  the  hitter  winds 
of  Heaven  for  companions ;  women  and  children 
utterly  forlorn  and  helpless,  cither  wandering  about 
all  night,  or  crouching  under  a  miserable  archway, 
or,  worst  of  all,  seeking  in  death  or  sin  the  refuge 
denied  them  elsewhere.  It  is  a  man-el  that  we 
could  sleep  in  peace  in  our  warm,  comfortable 
homes  with  this  horror  at  our  very  door. 

But  at  last  some  efforts  were  made  to  efface  this 
stain  upon  our  country,  public  sympathy  was  ap- 
pealed to,  and  a  few  '  Refuges '  were  opened,  to 
shelter  our  homeless  poor  through  the  winter  nights. 


326 

In  the  Antumn  of  1860  there  was  no  Catholic 
Refuge  in  the  kingdom ;  and  excellent  as  were  the 
Protestant  Refuges,  their  resources  were  quite  in- 
adequate to  meet  the  claims  upon  them. 

In  this  country,  as  we  all  know,  the  very  poorest 
nnd  most  destitute  are  in  many  cases  Catholics ; 
find  doubtless  our  Priests,  to  whom  no  form  of  sin 
or  sorrow  is  strange,  must  see  in  a  special  manner, 
and  in  innumerable  results,  the  sufferings,  dangers, 
and  temptations  of  the  homeless.  The  Rev.  Dr. 
Gilbert  therefore  resolved  to  open  a  Catholic  Night 
Refuge  in  his  parish,  and  to  his  zealous  charity  and 
unwearied  efforts  are  due  the  foundation  and  success 
of  the  Providence  Row  Night  Refuge  for 
Homeless  Women  and  Children  ;  the  first 
Catholic  Refuge  in  England  or  Ireland,  and  still 
the  only  one  in  England. 

The  Sisters  of  Mercy  had  long  been  aiding  their 
pastors  in  the  schools  of  the  parish,  and  when  this 
new  opening  for  their  charity  was  suggested  to 
them,  they  unhesitatingly  accepted  a  task,  worthy 
indeed  of  the  holy  name  they  bear.  They  were 
seeking  for  some  house  more  suitable  for  a  Con- 
vent than  the  one  they  had  hitherto  occupied  in 
Broad  Street ;  and  when  Dr.  Gilbert  saw  the  large 
stable  at  the  back  of  14  Finslmry  Square,  he  felt 
that  here  was  a  suitable  place  for  his  long-cherished 
plan  of  a  Night  Refuge.  It  was  separated  from  the 
house  by  a  yard,  and  opened  on  a  narrow  street  at 
the  back,  already  called,  with  a  happy  appropriate- 
ness, Providence  Row.  To  Finsbnrj  Square  there- 
fore the  community  removed,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  the  stable  was  fitted  up  with  wooden  beds 
and  benches,  the  few  preparations  were  completed, 


3*7 

and  on  the  7th  of  October,  1860,  the  Refuge  was 
opened.  At  first  there  were  but  fourteen  beds,  but 
contributions  flowed  in  from  Protestants  as  well  as 
Catholics,  and  in  February,  18G1,  thirty-one  more 
beds  were  added,  making  in  all  forty-five.  But  as 
many  of  the  poor  women  have  children  with  them, 
rarely  less  than  sixty  persons  are  each  night  ad- 
mitted. Up  to  the  present  time,  fourteen  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  eighty-five  nights'  lodgings  have 
been  given,  with  the  same  number  of  suppers  and 
breakfasts. 

From  six  to  eight  arc  the  hours  of  admission ; 
but  this  is  indeed  a  needless  rule,  for  a  crowd  of 
ragged  women,  with  pale,  weary  children  clinging 
to  them,  arc  waiting  patiently  long  before  the  doors 
are  opened,  and  the  place  is  filled  at  once. 

Means  for  washing  are  given  them,  they  rest 
themselves  in  warmth,  light,  and  peace,  and  at 
eight  o'clock  each  person  receives  half  a  pound  of 
bread  and  a  large  basin  of  excellent  gruel.  Night 
prayers  are  said  by  one  of  the  Sisters,  and  then  the 
poor  wanderers  lie  down  in  their  rude  but  clean  and 
comfortable  beds.  They  have  the  same  meal  in  the 
morning. 

Those  who  come  on  Saturday  evening  remain 
till  Monday,  receiving  on  Sunday,  besides  the  usual 
breakfast  and  supper,  an  extra  half-pound  of  bread, 
and  a  good  supply  of  meat  soup.  There  is  no  dis- 
tinction of  creed;  Protestants  and  Catholics  arc 
alike  admitted.  There  are  but  two  conditions  of 
admittance,  —  that  the  applicants  be  homeless  and 
of  good  character.  This  is  the  only  Refuge  which 
makes  character  a  condition ;  and  it  is  found  that, 
in  spite  of  all  precautions,  much  harm  arises  in  the 


32S 

other  "Refuges  to  the  young  and  innocent,  from  the 
bad  language  and  evil  example  of  the  degraded 
class  with  whom  they  are  brought  in  contact. 

Eacli  evening  (and  on  Sundays  more  fully) 
simple  instructions  on  the  Catechism  are  given  by 
one  of  the  Sisters  ;  but  this  the  Protestants  do  not 
attend  ;  they  frequently  ask  leave  to  be  present,  but 
it  is  not  permitted,  (without  the  special  permission 
of  one  of  the  clergy,)  as  the  instructions  on  the 
practice  of  our  faith  -would  be  to  them  compara- 
tively useless  and  unmeaning. 

The  temporary  shelter  and  food  which  is  given 
in  Providence  Row  is  not  the  only,  perhaps  often 
not  the  greatest,  benefit  bestowed  upon  the  poor 
forlorn  inmates.  They  find  advice,  sympathy,  and 
help  from  the  kind  Sisters ;  and  the  very  telling 
their  troubles  to  one  who  is  there  to  serve  and  tend 
them,  not  for  any  earthly  reward,  but  from  Chris- 
tian love  and  pity,  must  be  a  rest  to  their  weary 
hearts,  a  comfort  in  their  sore  want  and  distress. 
It  is  touching  to  see  their  eager  desire  to  be  allowed 
to  help  the  Sister  in  the  cleaning,  cooking,  &c, 
and  the  half-ashamed  thankfulness  with  which  they 
watch  her  busied  in  their  service. 

One  of  the  Nuns  sleeps  every  night  in  the  Ref- 
uge, and  no  unruly  sound,  no  whisper  of  mur- 
mur or  disrespect,  ever  rises  against  her  gentle 
sway.  Nay,  even  more,  when  she  has  the  sad  task 
of  selecting  among  the  waiting  crowd  the  number 
who  may  enter,  choosing  generally  those  with  chil- 
dren and  those  who  have  not  applied  before,  the 
rest  submit  without  a  murmur.  Though  the  little 
ones  arc  hardly  counted,  but  creep  in  by  their  moth- 
ers' sides,  there  are  still  many  —  sometimes  thirty 


329 

or  forty  nightly  —  turned  away  for  want  of  space. 
They  have  had  a  glimpse  of  warmth  and  light,  and 
then  it  is  the  cruel  office  of  the  kind  Nun  to  bar  the 
door  against  them;  hut  no  angry  word,  no  remon- 
strance, mcetc  her  sorrowful  refusal;  they  turn 
once  more  to  their  weary  wanderings  in  the  dark, 
bleak  streets.  And  so  will  many  have  to  do,  night 
after  night,  until  the  Refuge  is  enlarged.  The 
present  space  will  hold  no  more  beds,  but  to  build 
an  additional  dormitory  is  the  earnest  desire  and 
intention  of  Dr.  Gilbert. 

No  salaries  are  received  by  any  ivho  have  charge,  of 
the  Refuge.  Among  the  many  causes  for  gratitude 
we  have  to  our  good  Religious,  surely  it  is  not  one 
of  the  least,  that  what  wc  can  spare  in  the  cause  of 
charity  goes  solely  and  directly  to  its  object ;  the 
more  difficult  and  more  perfect  share  of  the  good 
work  being  taken  by  them  out  of  love  to  God  and 
his  poor. 

The  Refuge  is  open  from  the  month  of  October 
to  April. 

It  is  placed  under  the  special  patronage  of  Our 
Blessed  Lady,  and  Blessed  Benedict  Labre. 

May  the  Mother  who  wandered  homeless  through 
inhospitable  Bethlehem,  and  the  Saint  who  was  a 
beggar  and  an  outcast  upon  the  face  of  the  earth, 
watch  over  this  Refuge  for  the  poor  and  desolate, 
and  obtain  from  the  charity  of  the  faithful  the  aid 
which  it  so  sorely  needs. 

I  may  add,  that  donations  for  the  Refuge  will  be 
thankfully  received  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Gilbert,  22 
Finsbury"  Circus,  or  by  the  Rev.  Mother,  at  the 
Convent,  14  Finsbury  Square,  E.  C. 

We  all  meditate  long  and  often  on  the  many 


33° 

kinds  of  sufferings  borne  for  us  by  our  Blessed 
Redeemer ;  but  perhaps,  if  we  consider  a  moment, 
■\vc  shall  most  of  us  confess,  that  the  one  we  think 
of  least  often,  the  one  we  compassionate  least  of 
all,  is  the  only  one  of  which  he  deigned  to  tell  ua 
himself,  and  for  which  he  himself  appealed  to 
our  pity  in  the  Divine  complaint,  —  "  The  foxes 
have  holes,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  have  nests,  but 
the  Son  of  Man  has  not  wliere  to  lay  his  head." 


A.  A.  P. 


May,  1861. 


THE  ARMY  OF  THE  LORD. 


I. 

j^H^lO  fight  the  battle  of  the  Cross,  Christ's 
chosen  ones  arc  sent  — 
Good    soldiers   and    great    victors  —  a 
noble  armament. 
They  use  no  earthly  weapon,  they  know  not  spear 

or  sword, 
Yet  right  and  true  and  valiant  is  the  army  of  the 
Lord. 


II. 

Fear  them,  ye  mighty  ones  of  earth ;  fear   them, 

ye  demon  foes ; 
Slay  them  and  think  to  conquer,  but  the  ranks  will 

always  close  : 
In  vain  do  Earth  and  Hell  unite   their   power  and 

skill  to  try, 
They  fight  better  for  their  wounds,  and  they  con« 

quer  when  they  die. 


332  THE  ARMY  0E  THE  LORD. 

III. 

The  soul  of  every  sinner  is  the  victory  they  would 

gain  ; 
They  would  bind  each  rebel  heart  in  their  Master's 

golden  chain  : 
Faith  is  the  shield    they  carry,  and   the    two-edged 

sword  they  bear 
Is  God's  strongest,  mightiest  weapon,  and  they  call 

it  Love  and  Prayer. 

IV. 

Where   the   savage   hordes    are    dwelling    by    the 

Ganges'  sacred  tide, 
Through  the  trackless  Indian  forests,  St.  Francis  is 

their  guide ; 
Where  crime  and  sin  are  raging,  to  conquer  they 

are  gone ;  — 
They  do  conquer  as  they  go,  for  St.  Philip  leads 

them  on. 

v. 

They  are  come  where  all  are  kneeling  at  the  shrines 

of  wealth  and  pride, 
And  an  old  and  martyred  Bishop  is  their  comrade 

and  their  guide  : 
To  tell  the  toil-worn  negro  of  freedom  and  repose, 
O'er  the  vast  Atlantic's  bosom  they  are  called  by 

sweet  St.  Rose. 

VI. 

They  are  gone  where  Love  is  frozen,  and   Faith 

grown  calm  and  cold, 
Where  the  world  is  all  triumphant,  and  the  sheep 

have  left  the  fold, 


THE  ARMY  OF  THE  LORD.  333 

Where  His  children  scom  His  blessings,  and    His 

sacred  Shrines  despise,  — 
And  the  beacon  of  the  warriors  is    the    light    in 

Mary's  eyes. 

VII. 

The  bugle  for  their  battle  is  the  matin    bell   for 

prayer ; 
And  for  their  noble  standard    Christ's  holy  Cross 

they  bear ; 
His  sacred  name  their  war-cry,  'tis  in  vain  what 

ye  can  do, 
They  must  conquer,  for  your  Angels  are  leaguing 

with  them  too. 

Tin. 
"Would  you  know,  0   World,  the^e  warriors  ?     Go 

where  the  poor,  the  old, 
Ask  for  pardon  and  for  heaven,  and  you  offer  food 

and  gold  ; 
With  healing  and  with  comfort,  with  words  of  peace 

and  prayer, 
Bearing  His  greatest  gift  to  man — Christ's  chosen 

priests  are  there. 

IX. 

Where  sin  and  crime  are  dwelling,  hid  from    the 

light  of  day, 
And  life  and  hope  are  fading  at  Death's  cold  touch 

away, 
Where  dying  eyes  in  horror  see  the  long-forgotten 

past, 
Christ's  servants  claim  the  sinner,  and  gain  his  soul 

at  last. 


334  THE  ARMY  OF  TnE  LORD. 

x. 

Where  the  rich  and  proud  and  mighty  God's  mes- 
sage would  defy, 

In  warning  and  reproof  His  anointed  ones  stand  by : 

Bright  are  the  crowns  of  glory  God  keepeth  for 
His  own, 

Their  life  one  sigh  for  heaven,  and  their  aim  Hi3 
will  alone. 

XI. 

And  see  sweet  Mercy's  sister,  where  the  poor  and 

wretched  dwell, 
In  gentle  accents  telling  of  Him  she  loves  so  well ; 
Training  young  hearts  to  serve  their   Lord,  and 

place  their  hope  in  Heaven, 
Bidding  her  erring  sisters  love  much  and  be  forgiven. 

* 

XII. 

And  where  in  cloistered  silence  dim  the  Brides  of 

Jesus  dwell, 
Where  purest  incense  rises  up  from  every  lowly  cell. 
They  plead  not  vainly,  —  they    have  chosen  and 

gained  %he  better  part, 
And  given  their  gentle  life  away  to  Him  who  has 

their  heart. 

XIII. 

And  some  there  are  among  us  —  the  path  which 

they  have  trod 
Of  sin  and  pain  and  anguish  has  led  at  last  to  God : 
They  plead,  and  Christ  will  hear  them,  that  the 

poor  slaves  who  pine 
In  the  bleak,  dungeon  they  have  left,  may  see  Hi9 

truth  divine. 


TEE  ARMY  OF  THE  LORD.  33. 

XIV. 

O,    who  can  tell  how  many  hearts    are  altars  to 

His  praise, 
From   which    the    silent    prayer   ascends    through 

patient  nights  and  days  : 
The  sacrifice  is  ottered  still  in  secret  and  alone, 
O  World,  ye  do  not  know  them,  but  He  can  help 

His  own. 


xv. 

They  are  with  us,  His  true  soldiers,  they  come  in 

power  and  might ; 
Glorious  the  crown  which  they  shall  gain  after  the 

heavenly  fight ; 
And  you,  perchance,  who  scoff,  may  yet  their  rest 

and  glory  share, 
As  the  rich  spoil  of  their  battle  and  the  captives  of 

their  prayer. 

XVI. 

O,  who  shall  tell  the  wonder  of  that  great  day  of 

rest, 
When  even  in  this  place  of  strife  His  soldiers  are  so 

blest : 
0  World,  0  Earth,  why  strivo  ye  ?  join  tho  low 

chant  they  sing,  — 
"  O  Grave,  where  is  thy  victory !     O  Death,  where 

is  thy  sting  1 " 


43  6 


THE  STAR   OF  THE  SEA. 


THE   STAF    <F  THE   SEA. 


Q'F  r^any  a  mighty  ship 

It  he  stormy  waves  o'crwhelm ; 
"!^et  our  frail  bark  floats  on, 
Our  Ang^l  holds  the  helm : 
Dark  storms  are  gathering  round, 

And  dangerous  winds  arise, 
5Tet  see  !  one  trembling  star 
Is  shining  in  the  skies  ;  — 
And  we  are  safe  who  trust  in  thee, 
Star  of  the  Sea ! 


A  long  and  weary  voyage 

Have  we  to  reach  our  home, 
And  dark  and  sunken  rocks 

Are  hid  in  silver  foam  ; 
Each  moment  we  may  sink, 

But  steadily  we  sail, 
Our  winged  Pilot  smiles, 

And  says  we  shall  not  fail :  — 
And  so  we  kneel  and  call  on  thee, 
Star  of  the  Sea ! 


Yes,  for  those  shining  rays 

Shall  beam  upon  the  main, 
Shall  guide  us  safely  on, 

Through  fear  and  doubt  and  pain : 
And  see  —  the  stormy  wind 

Our  little  sail  has  caught, 
The  tempest  others  fear 

Shall  drive  iw  into  port :  — 


THE  SACRED   m.ART.  337 

Through  Life's  dark  voyage  wc  trust  in  thee, 
Star  of  the  Sea ! 

The  shore  now  looms  in  sight, 

The  far-off"  golden  strand, 
Yet  many  a  freight  is  wrecked 

And  lost  in  sight  of  land  ; 
Then  guide  us  safely  home, 

Through  that  last  hour  of  strife, 
And  welcome  us  to  land, 

From  the  long  voyage  of  life  :  — 
In  death  and  life  we  call  on  thee, 
Star  of  the  Sea ! 


THE   SACRED   HEART. 

HAT  wouldst  thou  have,  O  soul. 
Thou  weary  soul  ? 
Lo !  I  have  sought  for  rest 
On  the  Earth's  heaving  breast, 

From  pole  to  pole. 
Sleep  —  I  have  been  with  her, 

But  she  gave  dreams  ; 
Death  —  nay,  the  rest  he  gives 

Rest  only  seems. 
Fair  nature  knows  it  not  — 

The  grass  is  growing ; 
The  blue  air  knows  it  not  — 

The  winds  are  blowing: 
Not  in  the  changing  sky, 

The  stormy  sea, 

22 


338  THE  SACRED  HEART. 

Yet  somewhere  in  God's  wide  world 

Rest  there  must  be. 
Within  thy  Saviour's  Heart 

Place  all  thy  care, 
And  learn,  0  weary  soul, 

Thy  Rest  is  there. 

What  wouldst  thou,  trembling  soul  ? 

Strength  for  the  strife,  — 
Strength  for  this  fierv  war 

That  we  call  Life. 
Fears  gather  thickly  round ; 

Shadowy  foes, 
Like  unto  armed  men, 

Around  me  close. 
What  am  I,  frail  and  poor, 

When  griefs  arise  1 
No  help  from  the  weak  earth, 

Or  the  cold  skies. 
Lo  !  I  can  find  no  guards, 

No  weapons  borrow ; 
Shrinking,  alone  I  stand, 

With  mighty  sorrow. 
Courage,  thou  trembling  soul, 

Grief  thou  must  bear, 
Yet  thou  canst  find  a  strength 

Will  match  despair; 
Within  thy  Saviour's  Heart — 

Seek  for  it  there. 

What  wouldst  thou  have,  sad  soul, 
Oppressed  with  grief  1  — 

Comfort :  I  seek  in  vain. 
Nor  find  relief. 


THE  SACRED  HEART.  339 

Nature,  all  pitiless, 

Smiles  on  my  pain  ; 
I  ask  my  fellow-men, 

They  give  disdain. 
I  asked  the  babbling  streams, 

But  they  flowed  on  ; 
I  asked  the  wise  and  good, 

But  they  gave  none. 
Though  I  have  asked  the  stars, 

Coldly  they  shine. 
They  are  too  bright  to  know 

Grief  such  as  mine. 
I  asked  for  comfort  still, 

And  I  found  tears, 
And  I  have  sought  in  vain 

Long,  weary  years. 
Listen,  thou  mournful  soul, 

Thy  pain  shall  cease  ; 
Deep  in  His  sacred  Heart 

Dwells  joy  and  peace. 

Yes,  in  that  Heart  divine 

The  Angels  bright 
Find,  through  eternal  years, 

Still  new  delight. 
From  thence  his  constancy 

The  martyr  drew, 
And  there  the  virgin  band 

Their  refuge  knew. 
There,  racked  by  pain  without, 

And  dread  within, 
How  many  souls  have  found 

Heaven's  bliss  begin. 
Then  leave  thy  vain  attempts 

To  seek  for  peace; 


340 


THE  NAMES   OF  OUR  LADY. 

The  world  can  never  give 

One  soul  release  : 
But  in  thy  Saviour's  Heart 

Securely  dwell, 
No  pain  can  harm  thee,  hid 

In  that  sweet  cell. 
Then  fly,  0  coward  soul, 

Delay  no  more : 
What  words  can  speak  the  joy 

For  thee  in  store  1 
What  smiles  of  eartli  can  tell 

Of  peace  like  thine  1 
Silence  and  tears  are  best 

For  things  divine. 


THE  NAMES  OF  OUR  LADY. 


HROUGH  the  wide  world  thy  children 
raise 
Their  prayers,  and  still  we  see 
Calm  are  the  nights  and  bright  the  days 
Of  those  who  trust  in  thee. 


Around  thy  starry  crown  are  wreathed 

So  many  names  divine  : 
Which  is  the  dearest  to  my  heart, 

And  the  most  worthy  thine  ? 

Star  of  the  Sea:  we  kneel  and  pray 
When  tempests  raise  their  voice; 

Star  of  the  Sea  !  the  haven  reached, 
We  call  thee  and  rejoice. 


TIIE  NAMES   OF  OUR  LADY.        341 

Help  of  the  Christian  :  in  our  need 

Thy  mighty  aid  we  claim ; 
If  we  arc  faint  ami  weary,  then 

We  trust  in  that  dear  name. 

Our  Lady  of  the  Rosary  : 

What  name  can  be  so  sweet 
As  what  we  call  thee  when  we  place 

Our  chaplets  at  thy  feet. 

Bright  Queen  of  Heaven  :  when  we  are  sad, 

Best  solace  of  our  pains  ;  — 
It  tells  us,  though  on  earth  we  toil, 

Our  Mother  lives  and  reigns. 

Our  Lady  of  Mount  Carmel:  thug 
Sometimes  thy  name  is  known; 

It  tells  us  of  the  badge  we  wear, 
To  live  or  die  thine  own. 

Our  Lady  dear  of  Victories : 

We  see  our  faith  oppressed, 
And,  praying  for  our  erring  land, 

We  love  that  name  the  best. 

Refuge  of  Sinners :  many  a  soul, 

By  guilt  cast  down,  and  sin, 
Has  learned  through  this  dear  name  of  thine 

Pardon  and  peace  to  win. 

Health  of  the  Sick:  when  anxious  hearts 

Watch  by  the  sufferer's  bed, 
On  this  sweet  name  of  thine  they  lean, 

Consoled  and  comforted. 


342         THE  NAMES   OF   OUR  LADY. 

Mother  of  Sorrows :  many  a  heart 

Half-broken  by  despair 
Has  laid  its  burden  by  the  cross, 

And  found  a  mother  there. 

Queen  of  all  Saints:  the  Church  appeals 

For  her  loved  dead  to  th.ee ; 
She  knows  they  wait  in  patient  pain 

A  bright  eternity. 

Fair  Queen  of  Virgins  :  thy  pure  band, 

The  lilies  round  thy  throne, 
Love  the  dear  title  which  they  bear 

Most  that  it  is  thine  own. 

True  Queen  of  Martyrs  :  if  we  shrink 
From  want,  or  pain,  or  woe, 

We  think  of  the  sharp  sword  that  pierced 
Thy  heart,  and  call  thee  so. 

Mary :  the  dearest  name  of  all, 

The  holiest  and  the  best ; 
The  first  low  word  that  Jesus  lisped 

Laid  on  His  mother's  breast. 

Mary,  the  name  that  Gabriel  spoke, 
The  name  that  conquers  hell ; 

Mary,  the  name  that  through  high  heaven 
The  angels  love  so  well. 

Mary,  —  our  comfort  and  our  hope,  — 

0  may  that  word  be  given 
To  be  the  last  we  sigh  on  earth,  — 

The  fir^t  we  breathe  in  heaven. 


A   CEAPLET  OF  FLOWERS.  343 


A   CHAPLET  OF  FLOWERS. 


EAR,  set  the  casement  open, 
The  evening  breezes  blow 
Sweet  perfumes  from  the  flowers 
I  cannot  sec  below. 


I  can  but  catch  the  waving 
Of  chestnut  boughs  that  pass, 

Their  shadow  must  have  covered 
The  sun-dial  on  the  grass. 

So  go  and  bring  the  flowers 
I  love  best  to  my  room, 

My  failing  strength  no  longer 
Can  bear  me  where  they  bloom. 

You  know  I  used  to  love  them, 
But  ah  !  they  come  too  late,  — 

For  see,  my  hands  are  trembling 
Beneath  their  dewy  weight. 

So  I  will  watch  you  weaving 
A  chaplet  for  me,  dear, 

Of  all  my  favorite  flowers, 
As  I  could  do  last  year. 

First,  take  those  crimson  roses,  — 
How  red  their  petals  glow ! 

Red  as  the  blood  of  Jesus, 

Which  heals  our  sin  and  woe. 


344  A  CHAPLET  OF  FLOWERS. 

See  in  cadi  heart  of  crimson 
A  deeper  crimson  shine  : 

So  in  the  foldings  of  our  hearts 
Should  glow  a  love  divine. 

Next  place  those  tender  violets, 
Look  how  they  still  regret 

The  cell  where  they  were  hidden, — 
The  tears  are  on  them  yet. 

How  many  souls  —  His  loved  one3 
Dwell  lonely  and  apart, 

Hiding  from  all  but  One  above 
The  fragrance  of  their  heart. 

Then  take  that  virgin  lily, 
How  holily  she  stands  ! 

You  know  the  gentle  angels 
Bear  lilies  in  their  hands. 

Yet  crowned  with  purer  radiance 
A  deeper  love  they  claim, 

Because  their  queen-like  whiteness 
Is  linked  with  Mary's  name. 

And  now  this  spray  of  ivy  : 
You  know  its  gradual  clasp 

Uproots  strong  trees,  and  towers 
Fall  crumbling  in  its  grasp. 

So  God's  dear  grace  around  us 
With  secret  patience  clings, 

And  slow,  sure  power,  that  loosens 
Strong  holds  on  human  things. 


A  CHAP  LET  OF  FLOWERS.  345 

Then  heliotrope,  that  tumeth 

Towards  her  lord  the  sun,  — 
"Would  that  our  thoughts  as  fondly 

Sought  our  beloved  One. 

Nay,  if  that  branch  he  fading, 
Cast  not  one  blossom  by, 

Its  little  task  is  ended 
And  it  does  well  to  die. 

And  let  some  field  flowers  even 

Be  wreathed  among  the  rest, 
I  think  the  infant  Jesus 

Would  love  sueh  ones  the  best. 

These  flowers  are  all  too  brilliant, 
So  place  calm  heart's-ease  there, 

God's  last  and  sacred  treasure 
For  all  who  wait  and  bear. 

Then  lemon-leaves,  whose  sweetness 

Grows  sweeter  than  before 
When  bruised,  and  crushed,  and  broken, 

—  Hearts  need  that  lesson  more. 

Yet  stay,  —  one  crowning  glory, 

All  His,  and  yet  all  ours  ; 
The  dearest,  tenderest  thought  of  all, 

Is  still  the  Passion-flower's. 

So  take  it  now,  —  nay,  heed  not 

My  tears  that  on  it  fall ; 
I  thank  Him  for  the  flowers, 

As  I  can  do  for  all. 


346  KYRIE  ELEISOK 

And  place  it  on  the  altar, 

Where  oft,  in  days  long  flown, 

I  knelt  by  His  dear  Mother, 
And  knew  she  was  my  own. 

The  bells  ring  out  her  praises, 
The  evening  shades  grow  dim  ; 

Go  there  and  say  a  prayer  for  me, 
And  sing  Our  Lady's  hymn. 

While  I  lie  here,  and  ask  her  help 
In  that  last,  longed-for  day  — 

When  the  Beloved  of  my  heart 
Will  call  my  soul  away. 


KYRIE  ELEISON. 

IN  joy,  in  pain,  in  sorrow, 

Father,  Thy  hand  we  see  ; 
But  some  among  Thy  children 
Deny  this  faith  and  Thee. 
They  will  not  ask  Thy  mercy, 

But  we  kneel  for  them  in  prayer; 
Are  they  not  still  Thy  children  ? 

Pity,  0  God  !  and  spare. 
Thy  peace,  0  Lord,  has  never 

On  their  desolate  pathway  shone, 
Darkness  is  all  around  them  : 
Kyric  Eleison! 

For  them  the  starry  heavens 
No  hymn  of  worship  raise ; 


KYRIE  EL  E IS  ON.  347 

$0:  them,  earth's  innocent  flowere 

"Breathe  not  Thy  silent  praise ; 
In  heaven  they  know  no  Saviour, 

No  Father,  cud  no  Friend, 
knd  Ih'e  is  all  tliey  hope  for, 

And  death  they  call  the  end ; 
Their  eyes,  O  Lord  !  arc  blinded 

To  the  glories  of  the  sun, 
To  the  shining  of  the  sea-star  — » 

Kyric  Eleison  ! 

By  the  love  Thy  saints  have  s^own  Thee, 

And  the  sorrows  they  have  born*,. 
Leave  not  these  erring  creatures 

To  wander  thus  forlorn. 
By  Thy  tender  name  of  Saviour,  — 

The  name  they  have  denied  ; 
By  Thy  bitter  death  and  passion, 

And  the  Cross  which  they  deride ; 
By  the  anguish  Thou  hast  Buffered, 

And  the  glory  Thou  hast  won ; 
By  Thy  love  and  by  Thy  pity  — 

Christc  Eleison ! 

Pray  for  them,  glorious  seraphs, 

And  ye,  bright  angel  band, 
Who  chant  His  praises  ever, 

And  in  His  presence  stand  ; 
And  thou,  O  gentle  Mother, 

Queen  of  the  starry  sky  ; 
Ye  Saints  wliosc  toils  are  over, 

Join  your  voices  to  our  cry,  — 
In  Thy  terror  or  Thy  mercy, 

Call  them  ere  life  is  done, 
For  His  sake  who  died  to  save  thenc, 

Kyrie  Eleison  ! 


348 


THE  ANNUNCIATION. 


THE   ANNUNCIATION. 


OW  pure,  and  frail,  and  white, 
The  snowdrops  shine ! 
Gather  a  garland  bright 
For  Mary's  shrine. 


For,  born  of  winter  snows, 
These  fragile  flowers 

Are  gifts  to  our  fair  Queen 

From  Spring's  first  hours. 

For  on  this  blessed  day- 
She  knelt  at  prayer ; 

When,  lo  !  before  her  shone 
An  Angel  fair. 

"  Hail,  Mary  !  "  thus  he  cried, 
With  reverent  fear  : 

She,  with  sweet  wondering  eyes, 
Marvelled  to  hear. 


Be  still,  ye  clouds  of  Heaven  ! 

Be  silent,  Earth ! 
And  hear  an  Angel  tell 

Of  Jesus'  birth, 

While  she,  whom  Gabriel  hails 

As  full  of  grace, 
Listens  with  humble  faith 

In  her  sweet  face. 


TIIE    ANNUNCIATION.  349 

Be  still,  Pride,  War,  and  Pomp, 

Vain  Hopes,  vain  Fears, 
For  now  an  Angel  speaks, 

And  Mary  hears. 

«  Hail,  Mary  !  "  lo,  it  rings 

Through  ages  on ; 
"Hail,  Mary  !  "  it  shall  sound, 

Till  Time  is  done. 

"Hail,  Mary  !  "  infant  lips 

Lisp  it  to-day  ; 
"  Hail,  Mary  !  "  with  faint  smilo 

The  dying  say. 

"  Hail,  Mary  !  "  many  a  heart 

Broken  with  grief, 
In  that  angelic  prayer 

Has  found  relief. 

And  many  a  half-lost  soul, 

When  turned  at  hay, 
With  those  triumphant  words 

Has  won  the  day. 

"  Hail,  Mary,  Queen  cf  Heaver  1  ** 

Let  us  repeat, 
And  place  our  snowdrop  v/reath 
Here  at  her  feet. 


35o  AN  APPEAL. 

AN  APPEAL. 

"  THE  IRISH  CHURCH  MISSION  FOR  CONVERTING  THE  CATHOUCS  " 

PARE  her,  O  cruel  England  ! 
Thy  Sister  lieth  low ; 
Chained  and  oppressed  she  lieth, 
Spare  her  that  cruel  blow. 
We  ask  not  for  the  freedom 

Heaven  has  vouchsafed  to  thee, 
Nor  bid  thee  share  with  Ireland 

The  empire  of  the  sea  ; 
Her  children  ask  no  shelter,  — 
Leave  them  the  stormy  sky  ; 
They  ask  not  for  thy  harvests, 
For  they  know  how  to  die : 
Deny  them,  if  it  please  thee, 

A  grave  beneath  the  sod  :  — 
But  we  do  cry,  0  England, 

Leave  them  their  faith  in  God  I 

Take,  if  thou  wilt,  the  earnings 

Of  the  poor  peasant's  toil, 
Take  all  the  scanty  produce 

That  grows  on  Irish  soil, 
To  pay  the  alien  preachers 

Whom  Ireland  will  not  hear, 
To  pay  the  scoffers  at  a  Creed 

Which  Irish  hearts  hold  dear : 
But  leave  them,  cruel  England, 

The  gift  their  God  has  given, 


AN  APPEAL.  351 

Leave  them  their  ancient  worship, 
Leave  them  their  faith  in  Heaven. 

You  come  and  offer  Learning,  — 

A  mighty  gift,  'tis  true  ; 
Perchance  the  greatest  Messing 

That  now  is  known  to  yon. 
But  not  to  sec  the  wonders 

Sages  of  old  beheld 
Can  they  peril  a  priceless  treasure, 

The  Faith  their  Fathers  held; 
For  in  learning  and  in  science 

They  may  forget  to  pray,  — 
God  will  not  ask  for  knowledge 

On  the  great  judgment  day. 

When,  in  their  wretched  cabins, 

Hacked  by  the  fever  pain, 
And  the  weak  cries  of  their  children 

Who  ask  for  food  in  vain  ; 
When  starving,  naked,  helpless, 

From  the  shed  that  keeps  them  warm 
Man  has  driven  them  forth  to  perish, 

In  a  less  cruel  storm ;  — 
Then,  then,  we  plead  for  mercy, 

Then,  Sister,  hear  our  cry  ! 
For  all  we  ask,  O  England, 

Is  —  leave  them  there  to  die  ! 
Cursed  is  the  food  and  raiment 

For  which  a  soul  is  sold ; 
Tempt  not  another  Judas 

To  barter  God  for  gold. 
You  offer  food  and  shelter 

If  they  their  faith  deny  :  — 


352  AN  APPEAL. 

What  do  you  gain,  0  England, 

By  such  a  shallow  lie  1 

We  will  not  judge  the  tempted,  — 

May  God  blot  out  their  shame,  — 
He  sees  the  misery  round  them, 

He  knows  man's  feeble  frame  ; 
His  pity  still  may  save  them, 

In  His  strength  they  must  trust 
Who  calls  us  all  His  children, 

Yet  knows  we  are  but  dust. 

Then  leave  them  the  kind  tending 

Which  helped  their  childish  years  j 
Leave  them  the  gracious  comfort 

Which  dries  the  mourner's  tears  ; 
Leave  them  to  that  great  mother 

In  whose  bosom  they  were  born ; 
Leave  them  the  holy  mysteries 

That  comfort  the  forlorn : 
And,  amid  all  their  trials, 

Let  the  Great  Gift  abide, 
Which  you,  0  prosperous  England, 

Have  dared  to  cast  aside. 
Leave  them  the  pitying  Angels, 

And  Mary's  gentle  aid, 
For  which  earth's  dearest  treasures 

Were  not  too  dearly  paid. 
Take  back  your  bribes,  then,  England, 

Your  gold  is  black  and  dim, 
And  if  God  sends  plague  and  famine, 

They  can  die  and  go  to  Him. 


THE  JUBILEE   OF  iSSo.  353 


THE   JUBILEE   OF   1850. 


[The  titles  of  the  "Island  of  Saints"  and  the  "Dower 
ef  our  Lady,"  though  niore  frequently  applied  to  Ireland, 
Were  often  given  to  England  in  former  times.] 


LESS  God,  ye  happy  Lands, 
For  your  more  favored  lot : 
Our  England  dwells  apart, 
Yet  O  forget  her  not. 
While,  Witih  united  joy, 

This  day  you  all  adore, 
Remember  what  she  was, 

Though  her  voice  is  heard  no  more. 
Pray  for  our  desolate  land, 
Left  in  her  pride  and  power :  — 
She  was  the  Isle  of  Saints, 
She  was  Our  Lady's  Dower. 

Look  on  her  ruined  Altars ; 

He  dwelleth  there  no  more : 
Think  what  her  empty  churches 

Have  been  in  times  of  yore  ; 
She  knows  the  names  no  longer 

Of  her  own  sainted  dead, 
Denies  the  faith  they  held, 

And  the  cause  for  which  they  bled. 
Then  pray  for  our  desolate  land, 
Left  in  her  pride  and  power  :  — 
Siie  was  the  Isle  of  Saints, 
She  was  Our  Lady's  Dower! 
23 


354  THE  JUBILEE   OF  1850, 

Pray  that  her  vast  Cathedrals, 

Deserted,  empty,  bare, 
May  once  more  echo  accents 

Of  Love,  and  Faith,  and  Prayer ; 
That  the  holy  sign  may  bless  us, 
On  wood,  and  field,  and  plain, 
And  Jesus,  Mary,  Joseph, 
May  dwell  with  us  again. 

Pray,  ye  more  faithful  nations, 
In  this  most  happy  hour  :  — 
She  was  the  Isle  of  Saints, 
She  was  Our  Lady's  Dower. 

Beg  of  our  Lord  to  give  her 

The  gift  she  cast  aside, 
And  in  His  mercy  pardon 

Her  faithlessness  and  pride  : 
Pray  to  her  Saints,  who  worship 
Before  God's  mercy  Throne  ; 
Look  where  our  Queen  is  dwelling, 
Ask  her  to  claim  her  own, 

To  give  her  the  proud  title* 
Lost  in  an  evil  hour  :  — 
She  was  the  Isle  of  Saints, 
She  was  Our  Lady's  Dower. 


CHRISTMAS  FLOWERS.  355 


CHRISTMAS  FLOWERS. 

i^HE  Earth  is  so  bleak  and  deserted, 
So  cold  the  winds  blow, 
That  no  bud  or  no  blossom  will  venture 
To  peep  from  below  ; 
But,  longing  for  spring-time,  they  nestle 
Deep  under  the  snow. 

O,  in  May  how  we  honored  Our  Lady, 

Her  own  month  of  flowers  ! 
How  happy  we  were  with  our  garlands 

Through  all  the  spring  hours  ! 
All  her  shrines,  in  the  church  or  the  way-side, 

Were  made  into  bowers. 

And  in  August  —  her  glorious  Assumption  ; 

What  feast  was  so  bright ! 
What  clusters  of  virginal  lilies, 

So  pure  and  so  white  ! 
Why,  the  incense  could  scarce  overpower 

Their  perfume  that  night. 

And  through  her  dear  feasts  of  October 

The  roses  bloomed  still ; 
Our  baskets  were  laden  with  flowers, 

Her  vases  to  fill : 
Oleanders,  geraniums,  and  myrtles, 

We  chose  at  our  will. 

And  we  know  when  the  Purification, 
Her  first  feast,  comes  round, 


35 6  CHRISTMAS  FLOWERS. 

The  early  spring  flowers,  to  greet  it, 

Just  opening  are  found  ; 
And  pure,  white,  and  spotless,  the  snowdrop 

Will  pierce  the  dark  ground. 

And  now,  in  this  dreary  December, 

Our  glad  hearts  are  fain 
To  see  if  Earth  comes  not  to  help  us ; 

We  seek  all  in  vain  : 
Not  the  tiniest  blossom  is  coming 

Till  Spring  breathes  again. 

And  the  bright  feast  of  Christmas  is  dawning, 

And  Mary  is  blest ; 
For  now  she  will  give  us  her  Jesus, 

Our  dearest,  our  best, 
And  see  where  she  stands,  the  Maid-Mother, 

Her  Babe  on  her  breast ! 

And  not  one  poor  garland  to  give  her, 

And  yet  now,  behold, 
How  the  Kings  bring  their  gifts  —  myrrh,  and  incense, 

And  bars  of  pure  gold : 
And  the  Shepherds  have  brought  for  the  Baby 

Some  lambs  from  their  folds. 

He  stretches  His  tiny  hands  towards  us, 

He  brings  us  all  grace  ; 
And  look  at  His  Mother  who  holds  Him,  -— 

The  smile  on  her  face 
Says  they  welcome  the  humblest  gifts 

In  the  manger  we  place. 

Where  love  takes,  let  love  give ;  and  so  doubt  not : 
Love  counts  but  the  will, 


A   DESIRE.  357 

And  the  heart  has  its  flowers  of  devotion 

No  Winter  can  chill ; 
They  who  cared  for  "  good  will  "  that  first  Christmas 
"  Will  care  for  it  still. 

In  the  Chaplct  on  Jesus  and  Mary, 

From  our  hearts  let  us  call, 
At  each  Ave  Maria  we  whisper 

A  rosebud  shall  fall, 
And  at  each  Gloria  Patri  a  lily, 

The  crown  of  them  all ! 


A  DESIRE. 


1 


TO  have  dwelt  in  Bethlehem 

When  the  star  of  the  Lord  shone  bright  I 
To  have  sheltered  the  holy  wanderers 
On  that  blessed  Christmas  night ; 
To  have  kissed  the  tender  wayworn  feet 

Of  the  Mother  undented, 
And,  with  reverent  wonder  and  deep  delight, 
To  have  tended  the  Holy  Child ! 

Hush  !  such  a  glory  was  not  for  thee ; 

But  that  care  may  still  be  thine ; 
For  are  there  not  little  ones  still  to  aid 

For  the  sake  of  the  Child  divine  ? 
Are  there  no  wandering  Pilgrims  now, 

To  thy  heart  and  thy  home  to  take  ? 
And  are  there  no  mothers  whose  weary  hearts 

You  can  comfort  for  Mary's  sake  ? 


3 5 8  A  DESIRE. 

O  to  have  knelt  at  Jesus'  feet, 

And  to  have  learnt  His  heavenly  lore ! 
To  have  listened  the  gentle  lessons  He  taught 

On  mountain,  and  sea,  and  shore ! 
While  the  rich  and  the  mighty  knew  Him  not, 

To  have  meekly  done  His  will :  — 
Hush !  for  the  worldly  reject  Him  yet, 

You  can  serve  and  love  Him  still. 
Time  cannot  silence  His  mighty  words, 

And  though  ages  have  fled  away, 
His  gentle  accents  of  love  divine 

Speak  to  your  soul  to-day. 

0  to  have  solaced  that  weeping  one 

Whom  the  righteous  dared  despise! 
To  have  tenderly  bound  up  her  scattered  hair. 

And  have  dried  her  tearful  eyes ! 
Hush !  there  are  broken  hearts  to  soothe, 

And  penitent  tears  to  dry, 
While  Magdalen  prays  for  you  and  them, 

From  her  home  in  the  starry  sky. 

O  to  have  followed  the  mournful  way 

Of  those  faithful  few  forlorn  ! 
And  grace,  beyond  even  an  angel's  hope, 

The  Cross  for  our  Lord  have  borne ! 
To  have  shared  in  His  tender  mother's  grief, 

To  have  wept  at  Mary's  side, 
To  have  lived  as  a  child  in  her  home,  and  then 

Iu  her  loving  care  have  died  ! 

Hush  !  and  with  reverent  sorrow  still, 

Mary's  great  anguish  share ; 
And  learn,  for  the  sake  of  her  Son  divine, 

Thy  cross,  like  His,  to  bear. 


OUR  DAILY  BREAD.  359 

The  sorrows  that  weigh  on  thy  soul  unite 
With  those  which  thy  Lord  lias  borne, 

And  Mary  will  comfort  thy  dying  hour, 
Nor  leave  thy  soul  forlorn. 

O  to  have  seen  what  we  now  adore, 

And,  though  veiled  to  faithless  sight, 
To  have  known,  in  the  form  that  Jesus  wore, 

The  Lord  of  Life  and  Light ! 
Hush !  for  He  dwells  among  us  still, 

And  a  grace  can  yet  be  thine, 
Which  the  scoffer  and  doubter  can  never  know,  — 

The  Presence  of  the  Divine. 
Jesus  is  with  His  children  yet, 

For  His  word  can  never  deceive ; 
Go  where  His  lowly  Altars  rise, 

And  worship,  and  believe. 


OUR  DAILY  BBEAD. 

IVE  us  our  daily  Bread, 

O  God,  the  bread  of  strength  1 
For  we  have  learnt  to  know 
How  weak  we  are  at  length. 
As  children  we  arc  weak, 

As  children  must  be  fed  ;  — 
Give  us  Thy  Grace,  0  Lord, 
To  be  our  daily  Bread. 

Give  us  our  daily  Bread,  — 
The  bitter  bread  of  grief. 


360  THREEFOLD. 

We  sought  earth's  poisoned  feasts 
For  pleasure  and  relief; 

We  sought  her  deadly  fruits, 
But  now,  O  God,  instead, 

We  ask  Thy  healing  grief 
To  be  our  daily  Bread. 

Give  us  our  daily  Bread 

To  cheer  our  fainting  soul ; 
The  feast  of  comfort,  Lord, 

And  peace,  to  make  us  whole : 
For  we  are  sick  of  tears, 

The  useless  tears  we  shed  ;  — 
Now  give  us  comfort,  Lord, 

To  be  our  daily  Bread. 

Give  us  our  daily  Bread, 

The  Bread  of  Angels,  Lord, 
By  us,  so  many  times, 

Broken,  betrayed,  adored : 
His  Body  and  His  Blood  ;  — 

The  feast  that  Jesus  spread : 
Give  Him  —  our  life,  our  all  — 

To  be  our  daily  Bread  ! 


THREEFOLD. 

OTHER  of  grace  and  mercy, 
Behold  how  burdens  three 
Weigh  down  my  weary  spirit, 
And  drive  me  here  —  to  Thea 
Three  gifts  I  place  forever 
Before  thy  shrine  : 


THREEFOLD.  361 

The  threefold  offering  of  my  love, 
Mary,  to  thine  ! 

The  Past :  with  all  its  memories, 

Of  pain  —that  stings  me  yet ; 
Of  sin  —  that  brought  repentance  ; 

Of  joy  — that  brought  regret. 
That  which  has  been  :  —  forever 

So  bitter-sweet  — 
I  lay  in  humblest  offering 

Before  thy  feet. 

The  Present :  that  dark  shadow 

Through  which  we  toil  to-day ; 
The  slow  drops  of  the  chalice 

That  must  not  pass  away. 
Mother  !  I  dare  not  struggle, 

Still  less  despair : 
I  place  my  Present  in  thy  hands, 

And  leave  it  there. 

The  Future  :  holding  all  thing3 

Which  I  can  hope  or  fear, 
Brings  sin  and  pain,  it  may  be, 

Nearer  and  yet  more  near. 
Mother !  this  doubt  and  shrinking 

Will  not  depart, 
Unless  I  trust  my  Future 

To  thy  dear  Heart. 

Making  the  Past  my  lesson, 

Guiding  the  Present  right, 
Ruling  the  misty  Future,  — 

Bless  them  and  me  to-night 


362  CONFIDO  FT   CONQUIESCO. 

What  may  be,  and  what  must  be, 

And  what  has  been, 
In  thy  dear  care  forever 

I  leave,  my  Queen  ! 


CONFIDO   ET    CONQUIESCO. 

"  Scit ;  potest ;  vult :  quid  est  quod  timeamus  ?  " 

S.  Ignatius 

RET  not,  poor  soul :  while  doubt  and  feai 
Disturb  thy  breast, 
The  pitying  angels,  who  can  see 
How  vain  thy  wild  regret  must  be, 
Say,  Trust  and  Rest. 

Plan  not,  nor  scheme,  —  but  calmly  wait ; 

His  choice  is  best. 
While  blind  and  erring  is  thy  sight, 
His  wisdom  sees  and  judges  right, 

So  Trust  and  Rest. 

Strive  not,  nor  struggle  :  thy  poor  might 

Can  never  wrest 
The  meanest  thing  to  serve  thy  will ; 
All  power  is  His  alone  :  Be  still, 

And  Trust  and  Rest. 

Desire  not :  self-love  is  strong 

Within  thy  breast; 
And  yet  He  loves  thee  better  still, 
So  let  Him  do  His  loving  will, 

And  Trust  and  Rest. 


ORA  PRO  ME.  363 

What  dost  thou  fear  1     His  wisdom  reigns 

Supreme  confessed; 
His  power  is  infinite  ;  His  love 
Thy  deepest,  fondest  dreams  above ;  — 

So  Trust  and  Rest. 


ORA  PRO  ME. 

i)VE    MARIA  !  bright  and  pure, 
Hear,  O  bear  me  when  I  pray  ! 
Pains  and  pleasures  try  the  pilgrim 
On  his  long  and  weary  way ; 
Fears  and  perils  arc  around  me,  — 
Ora  pro  me. 

Mary,  see  my  heart  is  burdened, 
Take,  0  take  the  weight  away, 

Or  help  me,  that  I  may  not  murmur 
If  it  is  a  cross  you  lay 

On  my  weak  and  trembling  heart,  —  bat 
Ora  pro  me. 

Mary,  Mary,  Queen  of  Heaven ! 

Teach,  O  teach  me  to  obey  : 
Lead  me  on,  though  fierce  temptations 

Stand  and  meet  me  in  the  way ; 
"When  I  fail  and  faint,  my  mother, 
Ora  pro  me. 

Then  shall  I  —  if  thou,  0  Mary, 
Art  my  strong  support  and  stay  — 


364  TEE  CEURCE  IN  1849. 

Fear  nor  feel  the  threefold  danger 
Standing  forth  in  dread  array ; 
Now  and  ever  shield  and  guard  me, 
Ora  pro  me. 

When  my  eyes  are  slowly  closing, 
And  I  fade  from  earth  away, 

And  when  Death,  the  stern  destroyer, 
Claims  my  body  as  his  prey,  — 

Claim  my  soul,  and  then,  sweet  Mary, 
Ora  pro  me. 


THE  CHURCH  IN  1849. 

MIGHTY   Mother,    hearken  !  for  thy 
foes 
Gather  around  thee,  and  exulting  cry 
That  thine  old  strength  is  gone  and 
thou  must  die, 
Pointing  with  fierce  rejoicing  to  thv  woes. 
And  is  it  so  ?     The  raging  whirlwind  blows 
No  stronger  now  than  it  has  done  of  yore : 
Rebellion,  strife,  and  sin  have  been  before ; 
The  same  companions  whom  thy  Master  chose. 
We  too  rejoice :  we  know  thy  might  is  more 

When  to  the  world  thy  glory  seemeth  dim ; 
Nor  can  Hell's  gates  prevail  to  conquer  Thee, 

^Who  hearest  over  all  the  voice  of  Him 
Who  chose  thy  first  and  greatest  Prince  should  be 
A  fisher  on  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 


FISHERS  OF  MEN.  365 


FISHERS  OF  MEN. 

HE  boats  are  out,  and  the  storm  is  high  ; 
We  kneel  on  the  shore  and  pray  : 
The  Star  of  the  Sea  shines  still  in  the  sky, 
And  God  is  our  help  and  stay. 

The  fishers  are  weak,  and  the  tide  is  strong, 
And  their  boat  seems  slight  and  frail ; 

But  St.  Peter  lias  steered  it  for  them  so  long, 
It  would  weather  a  rougher  gale. 

St.  John  the  Beloved  sails  with  them  too, 

And  his  loving  words  they  hear; 
So  with  tender  trust  the  boat's  brave  crew 

Neither  doubt,  or  pause,  or  fear. 

He  who  sent  them  fishing  is  with  them  still, 

And  He  bids  them  cast  their  net ; 
And  He  has  the  power  their  boat  to  fill, 

So  we  know  He  will  do  it  yet. 

They  have  cast  their  nets  again  and  again, 

And  now  call  to  us  on  shore  ; 
If  our  feeble  prayers  seem  only  in  vain, 

We  will  pray  and  pray  the  more. 

Though  the  storm  is  loud,  and  our  voice  is  drowned 

By  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  sea, 
We  know  that  more  terrible  tempests  found 

Their  Kuler,  O  Lord,  in  Thee ! 


366         THE  OLD    YEARS  BLESSING. 

See,  they  do  not  pause,  they  are  toiling  on, 

Yet  they  cast  a  loving  glance 
On  the  star  above,  and  ever  anon 

Look  up  through  the  blue  expanse. 

O  Mary,  listen  !  for  danger  is  nigh, 
And  \vc  know  thou  art  near  us  then ; 

For  thy  Son's  clear  servants  to  thee  we  cry, 
Sent  out  as  fishers  of  men. 

O,  watch,  —  as  of  old  thou  didst  watch  the  boat 

On  the  Galilean  lake,  — 
And  grant  that  the  fishers  may  keep  afloat 

Till  the  nets,  o'ercharged,  shall  break. 


THE  OLD  YEAR'S  BLESSING. 


AM  fading  from  you, 
But  one  draweih  near, 

Called  the  Angel-guardian 
Of  the  coming  year. 


If  my  gifts  and  graces 

Coldly  you  forget, 
Let  the  New  Year's  Angel 

Bless  and  crown  them  yet 

For  we  work  together; 

He  and  I  are  one  : 
Let  him  end  and  perfect 

All  I  leave  undone. 


THE   OLD    YEAR'S  CLESSING.         367 

I  brought  Good  Desires, 

Though  as  yet  but  seeds ; 
Let  the  New  Year  make  them 

Blossom  into  Deeds. 

I  brought  Joy  to  brighten 

Many  happy  days ; 
Let  the  New  Year's  Angel 

Turn  it  into  Praise. 

If  I  gave  you  Sickness, 

If  I  brought  you  Care, 
Let  him  make  one  Patience, 

And  the  other  Prayer. 

Where  I  brought  you  Sorrow, 
Through  his  care,  at  length, 

It  may  rise  triumphant 
Into  future  Strength. 

If  I  brought  you  Plenty, 

All  wealth's  bounteous  charms. 

Shall  not  the  New  Angel 
Turn  them  into  Alms  1 

I  gave  Health  and  Leisure, 

Skill  to  dream  and  plan ; 
Let  him  make  them  nobler ;  — 

Work  for  God  and  Man. 

If  I  broke  your  Idols, 

Showed  you  they  were  dust, 

Let  him  turn  the  Knowledge 
Into  heavenly  Trust. 


368  EVENING   CHANT. 

If  I  brought  Temptation, 
Let  sin  die  away 

Into  boundless  Pit)' 

For  all  hearts  that  stray. 

If  your  list  of  Errors 
Dark  and  long  appears, 

Let  this  new-born  Monarch 
Melt  them  into  Tears. 

May  you  hold  this  Angel 
Dearer  than  the  last,  — 

So  I  bless  his  Future, 

While  he  crowns  my  Past. 


EVENING  CHANT. 

TREW  before  our  Lady's  Picture 
Roses  —  flushing  like  the  sky 
Where  the  lingering  western  cloudlets 
Watch  the  daylight  die. 

Violets  steeped  in  dreamy  odors, 

Humble  as  the  Mother  mild, 
Blue  as  were  her  eyes  when  watching 

O'er  her  sleeping  Child. 

Strew  white  Lilies,  pure  and  spotless, 
Bending  on  their  stalks  of  green, 

Bending  down  with  tender  pity,  — » 
Like  our  Holy  Queen. 


EVENING    CHANT.  369 

Let  the  flowers  spend  their  fragrance 
On  our  Lady's  own  dear  shrine, 

"While  we  claim  her  gracious  helping 
Near  her  Son  divine. 

Strew  before  our  Lady's  picture 

Gentle  flowers,  fair  and  sweet ; 
Hope,  and  Fear,  and  Joy,  and  Sorrow, 

Place,  too,  at  her  feet. 

Hark  !  the  Angelas  is  ringing,  — 
Ringing  through  the  fading  light, 

In  the  heart  of  every  Blossom 
Leave  a  prayer  to-night. 

All  night  long  will  Mary  listen, 
While  our  pleadings  fond  and  deep 

On  their  scented  breath  are  rising 
For  us  —  while  we  sleep. 

Scarcely  through  the  starry  silence 

Shall  one  trembling  petal  stir, 
While  they  breathe  their  own  sweet  fragrance 

And  our  prayers  —  to  Her. 

Peace  to  every  heart  that  loves  her ! 

All  her  children  shall  be  blest : 
While  She  prays  and  watches  for  ub, 

We  will  trust  and  rest. 


*4 


370 


A   CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 


HE  moon  that  now  is  shining 
In  skies  so  bine  and  bright, 
Shone  ages  since  on  Shepherds 

Who  watched  their  flocks  by  night 
There  was  no  sound  upon  the  earth, 

The  azure  air  was  still, 
The  sheep  in  quiet  clusters  lay, 
Upon  the  grassy  hill. 

When  lo  !  a  white-winged  Angel 

The  watchers  stood  before, 
And  told  how  Christ  was  born  on  earth. 

For  mortals  to  adore  ; 
He  bade  the  trembling  Shepherds 

Listen,  nor  be  afraid, 
And  told  how  in  a  manger 

The  glorious  Child  was  laid. 

When  suddenly  in  the  Heavens 

Appeared  an  Angel  band, 
(The  while  in  reverent  wonder 

The  Syrian  Shepherds  stand,) 
And  all  the  bright  host  chanted 

Words  that  shall  never  cease,  — 
Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 

On  earth  good-will  and  peace  ! 

The  vision  in  the  heavens 
Faded,  and  all  was  still, 


A   CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  371 

And  the  wondering  shepherds  left  their  flocks, 

To  feed  upon  the  hill : 
Towards  the  Messed  city 

Quickly  their  course  they  held, 
Anil  in  a  lowly  stalile 

Virgin  and  Child  beheld. 

Beside  a  humble  manger 

Was  the  Maiden  Mother  mild.  . 
And  in  her  arms  her  Son  divine, 

A  new-born  Infant,  smiled. 
No  shade  of  future  sorrow 

From  Calvary  then  was  cast ; 
Only  the  glory  was  revealed, 

The  Buffering  was  not  passed. 

The  Eastern  kings  before  him  knelt, 

And  rarest  offerings  brought ; 
The  shepherds  worshipped  and  adored 

The  wonders  God  had  wrought : 
They  saw  the  crown  for  Israel's  King, 

The  future's  glorious  part :  — 
But  all  these  things  the  Mother  kept 

And  pondered  in  her  heart. 

Now  we  that  Maiden  Mother 

The  Queen  of  Heaven  call ; 
And  the  Child  we  call  our  Jesus, 

Saviour  and  Judge  of  all. 
But  the  star  that  shone  in  Bethlehem 

Shines  still,  and  shall  not  cease, 
And  we  listen  Btill  to  the  tidings, 

Of  Glory  and  of  Peace. 


J73 


OUR   TITLES. 


OUR  TITLES. 


RE  we  not  Nobles  ?  we  who  trace 
Our  pedigree  so  high 
That  God  for  us  aud  for  our  race 

Created  Earth  and  Sky, 
lit  and  Air  and  Time  and  Space, 
To  serve  us  and  then  die. 

Are  we  not  Princes  ?  we  who  stand 

As  heirs  beside  the  Throne ; 
We  who  can  call  the  promised  Land 

Our  Heritage,  our  own ; 
And  answer  to  no  less  command 

Than  God's,  and  His  alone. 

Are  we  not  Kings  ?  both  night  and  daj, 

From  early  until  late, 
About  our  bed,  about  our  way, 

A  guard  of  Angels  wait ; 
And  so  we  watch  and  work  and  pray 

In  more  than  royal  state. 

Are  we  not  holy  ?     Do  not  start : 

It  is  God's  sacred  will 
To  call  us  Temples  set  apart 

His  Holy  Ghost  may  fill : 
Our  very  food  .  .  .  .  0  hush,  my  Heart, 

Adore  IT  and  be  still ! 

Are  we  not  more  ?  our  Life  shall  be 
Immortal  and  divine. 


MINISTERING  ANGELS.  373 

The  nature  Mary  pave  to  Tlieo, 

Dear  Jesus,  still  is  Thine  ; 
Adoring  in  Thy  Heart,  I  see 

Such  blood  as  beats  iu  mine. 

0  God,  that  we  can  dare  to  fail, 

And  dare  to  say  we  must ! 
0  God,  that  we  can  ever  trail 

Such  banners  in  the  dust, 
Can  let  such  starry  honors  pale, 

And  such  a  Blazon  rust ! 

Shall  we  upon  such  Titles  bring 

The  taint  of  sin  and  shame? 
Shall  we,  the  children  of  the  King 

Who  hold  so  grand  a  claim, 
Tarnish  by  any  meaner  thing 

The  glory  of  our  name  ? 


MINISTERING  ANGELS. 

NGELS  of  light,  spread  your  bright  wings 
and  keep 
Near  mc  at  morn  : 
Nor  in  the  starry  eve,  nor  midnight  deep, 
Leave  me  forlorn. 

From  all  dark  spirits  of  unholy  power 
Guard  my  weak  heart 

Circle  around  mc  in  each  perilous  hour, 
And  take  my  part. 


374 


TT1E  SHRINKS   OF  MART. 


From  all  foreboding  thoughts  and  dangerous  fears, 

Keep  me  secure ; 
Teach  me  to  hope,  and  through  the  bitterest  tears 

Still  to  endure. 

If  lonely  in  the  road  so  fair  and  wide 

My  feet  should  stray, 
Then  through  a  rougher,  safer  pathway  guide 

Me  day  by  day. 

Should  my  heart  faint  at  its  unequal  strife, 

0  still  be  near ! 
Shadow  the  perilous  sweetness  of  this  life 

With  holy  fear. 

Then  leave  me  not  alone  in  this  bleak  world, 

Where'er  I  roam, 
And  at  the  end,  with  your  bright  wings  unfurled, 

O  take  me  home ! 


THE  SHRIXES  OF  MART. 

HERE  are  many  shrines  of  Our  Lady, 
In  different  lands  and  climes, 
Where  I  can  remember  kneeling 
In  old  and  beloved  times. 


They  arise  now  like  stars  before  me, 
Through  the  long,  long  night  of  years ; 

Some  are  bright  with  a  heavenly  radiance. 
And  others  shine  out  through  tears. 


TIIE  SHRINES  OF  MART.  375 

They  arise  too  like  mystical  flowers, 
All  different,  and  all  the  same,  — 

As  they  lie  in  my  heart  like  a  garland 
That  is  wreathed  round  Mary's  name. 

Thus  each  shrine  has  two  consecrations; 

One  all  the  faithful  can  trace, 
But  one  is  for  me  and  me  only, 

Holding  my  soul  with  its  grace. 


A  shrine  in  a  quaint  old  Chapel 
Defaced  and  broken  with  years, 

Where  the  pavement  is  worn  with  kneeling, 
And  the  step  with  kisses  and  tears. 

She  is  there  in  the  dawn  of  morning, 
When  the  day  is  blue  and  bright, 

In  the  shadowy  evening  twilight 
And  the  silent,  starry  night. 

Through  the  dim  old  painted  window 
The  Hours  look  down,  and  shed 

A  different  glory  upon  her, 
Violet,  purple,  and  red. 

And  there  —  in  that  quaint  old  Chapel 

As  I  stood  one  day  alone  — 
Came  a  royal  message  from  Mary, 

That  claimed  my  life  as  her  own. 


376  THE  snRlNES  OF  MART. 

II. 

I  remember  a  vast  Cathedral 

Which  holds  the  struggle  and  strife 

Of  a  graud  and  powerful  city, 

As  the  heart  holds  the  throb  of  a  life. 

Where  the  ebb  and  the  flow  of  passion, 

And  sin  in  its  rushing  tide, 
Have  dashed  on  that  worn  stone  chapel, 

Dashed,  and  broken,  and  died. 

And  above  the  voices  of  sorrow 
And  the  tempter's  clamorous  din, 

The  voice  of  Mary  has  spoken 

And  conquered  the  pain  and  the  sin : 

For  long  ages  and  generations 

Have  come  there  to  strive  and  to  pray; 

She  watched  and  guided  them  living, 
And  does  not  forget  them  to-day. 

And  once,  in  that  strange,  vast  City 
I  stood  in  its  great  stone  square, 

Alone  in  the  crowd  and  the  turmoil 
Of  the  pitiless  Southern  glare ; 

And  a  grief  was  upon  my  spirit, 
Which  I  could  not  cast  away, 

It  weighed  on  my  heart  all  the  night-time, 
And  it  fretted  my  life  all  day. 

So  then  to  that  calm,  cool  refuge 
I  turned  from  the  noisy  street, 


THE  SriRLYES  OF  MARY.  377 

And  I  carried  my  burden  of  sorrow  — 
And  left  it  at  Mary's  feet. 

III. 

I  remember  a  lonely  cbapel 

With  a  tender  claim  upon  me  ; 
It  was  built  for  the  sailors  only, 

And  they  call  it  the  Star  of  the  Sea. 

And  the  murmuring  chant  of  the  Vespers 
Seems  caught  up  by  the  wailing  breeze, 

And  the  throb  of  the  organ  is  echoed 
By  the  rush  of  the  silver  seas. 

And  the  votive  hearts  and  the  anchors 

Tell  of  danger  and  peril  past ; 
Of  the  hope  deferred  and  the  waiting, 

And  the  comfort  that  came  at  last. 

I  too  had  a  perilous  venture, 

On  a  stormy  and  treacherous  main, 

And  I  too  was  pleading  to  Mary 
From  the  depths  of  a  heart  in  pain. 

It  was  not  a  life  in  peril,  — 

O  God,  it  was  far,  far  more ! 
And  the  whirlpool  of  Hell's  temptations 

Lay  between  the  wreck  and  the  shore. 

Thick  mists  hid  the  light  of  the  beacon, 
And  the  voices  of  warning  were  dumb ; 

So  I  knelt  by  the  Altar  of  Mary, 
And  told  her  Her  hour  was  come. 


S78  THE  SHRINES  OF  MART. 

For  she  waits  till  Earth's  aid  forsakes  us, 
Till  we  know  our  own  efforts  are  vain ; 

And  we  wait,  in  our  faithless  blindness, 
Till  no  chance  but  her  prayers  remain. 

And  now  in  that  sea-side  chapel 
By  that  humble  village  shrine 

Hangs  a  heart  of  silver,  that  tells  her 
Of  the  love  and  the  gladness  of  mine. 


IV. 

There  is  one  far  shrine  I  remember 

In  the  years  that  are  fled  away, 
"Where  the  grand  old  mountains  are  guarding 

The  glories  of  night  and  day. 

Where  the  earth  in  her  rich,  glad  beauty 
Seems  made  for  our  Lady's  throne, 

And  the  stars  in  their  radiant  clusters 
Seem  fit  for  her  crown  alone. 

Where  the  balmy  breezes  of  summer 

On  their  odorous  pinions  bear 
The  fragrance  of  orange  blossoms, 

And  the  chimes  of  the  Convent  prayer. 

There  I  used  to  ask  for  Her  blessing 
As  each  summer  twilight  was  gray; 

There  I  used  to  kneel  at  her  Altar 
At  each  blue,  calm  dawn  of  day. 

There  in  silence  was  "Victory  granted, 
And  the  terrible  strife  begun, 


THE  SIMIXES  OF  MART.  379 

That  only  with  Her  protection 

Could  be  dared,  or  suffered,  or  won. 

If  I  love  the  name  of  that  Altar, 

And  the  thought  of  those  days  gone  by, 

It  is  only  the  Heart  of  Mary 

And  my  own  that  remember  why. 


V. 

Where  long  ages  of  toil  and  of  sorrow, 

And  Poverty's  weary  doom, 
Have  clustered  together  so  closely 

That  life  seems  shadowed  with  gloom, 

Where  crime  that  lurks  in  the  darkness 
And  vice  that  glares  at  the  day 

Make  the  spirit  of  hope  grow  weary, 
And  the  spirit  of  love  decay, 

Where  the  feet  of  the  wretched  and  sinful 
Have  closest  and  of'tencst  trod, 

Is  a  house,  as  humble  as  any, 
Yet  we  call  it  the  House  of  God. 

It  is  one  of  our  Lady's  Chapels ; 

And  though  poorer  than  all  the  rest, 
Just  because  of  the  sin  and  the  sorrow, 

I  think  she  loves  it  the  best. 

There  are  no  rich  gifts  on  the  Altar, 
The  shrine  is  humble  and  bare, 

Yet  the  poor  and  the  sick  and  the  tempted 
Think  their  home  and  their  heaven  is  there. 


3So  THE  SHRINES  OF  MART. 

And  before  that  humble  Altar 

Where  Our  Lady  of  Sorrow  stands, 

I  knelt  with  a  weary  longing, 
And  I  laid  a  vow  in  her  hands. 

And  I  know,  when  I  enter  softly 
And  pause  at  that  shrine  to  pray, 

That  the  fret  and  the  strife  and  the  burden 
Will  be  softened  and  laid  away. 

And  the  Prayer  and  the  Vow  that  sealed  it 
Have  bound  my  soul  to  that  shrine, 

For  the  Mother  of  Sorrows  remembers 
Her  promise,  and  waits  for  mine. 


It  is  one  long  chaplet  of  memories 

Tender  and  true  and  sweet, 
That  gleam  in  the  Past  and  the  Distance 

Like  lamps  that  burn  at  her  feet. 

Like  stars  that  will  shine  forever, 
For  time  cannot  touch  or  stir 

The  graces  that  Mary  has  given, 
Or  the  trust  that  we  give  to  her. 

Past  griefs  are  perished  and  over, 
Past  joys  have  vanished  and  died, 

Past  loves  are  fled  and  forgotten, 
Past  hopes  have  been  laid  aside. 

Past  fears  have  faded  in  daylight, 
Past  sins  have  melted  in  tears ;  — 


THE  HOMELESS  POOR.  381 

One  Love  and  Remembrance  only 
Seems  alive  in  those  dead  old  years. 

So  wherever  I  look  in  the  distance, 
And  whenever  I  turn  to  the  Past, 

There  is  always  a  shrine  of  Mary 
Each  brighter  still  than  the  last. 

I  will  ask  for  one  grace,  O  Mother ! 

And  will  leave  the  rest  to  thy  will : 
From  one  shrine  of  thine  to  another, 

Let  my  Life  be  a  Pilgrimage  still  1 

At  each  one,  0  Mother  of  Mercy ! 

Let  still  more  of  thy  love  be  given, 
Till  I  kneel  at  the  last  and  brightest,  — 

The  Throne  of  the  Queen  of  Heaven. 


THE  HOMELESS  POOR. 

ALM  the  city  lav  in  midnight  silence, 
Deep  on  streets  and  roofs  the  snow 
lav  white  ; 
Then  I  saw  an  Angel  spread  his  pinions 
Rising  up  to  Heaven  to  meet  the  night. 

In  his  hands  he  bore  two  crowns  of  lilies, 
Sweet  with  sweetness  not  of  earthly  flowers, 

But  a  coronal  of  prayers  for  Heaven 

He  had  gathered  through  the  evening  hours ;  — 


382  THE  HOMELESS  POOR 

He  had  gathered  in  that  mighty  city 

Through  -whose  streets  and  pathways  he  ha<\  ^t^d, 
Till  he  wove  into  a  winter  garland 

Prayers  that  faithful  hearts  had  sent  to  God. 

Through  the  azure  midnight  he  was  rising; 

As  I  watched,  I  saw  his  upward  flight 
Checked  by  a  mighty  Angel,  whose  stern  challenge 

Like  a  silver  blast,  rang  through  the  night. 

Then  strange  words  upon  the  silence  broke, 
And  I  listened  as  the  Angels  spoke. 


THE  AXGEL  OF  PRATERS. 

"  I  have  come  from  wandering  through  the  city, 
I  have  been  to  seek  a  garland  meet 

To  be  placed  before  His  throne  in  Heaven, 
To  be  laid  at  His  dear  Mother's  feet. 

"  I  have  been  to  one  of  England's  Havens,  — 
To  a  Home  for  peace  and  honor  planned, 

"Where  the  kindly  lights  of  joy  and  duty 
Meet  and  make  the  glory  of  the  land. 

"  There  I  heard  the  ring  of  children's  laughter 
Hushed  to  eager  silence ;  I  could  see 

How  the  father  stroked  their  golden  tresses 
As  they  clustered  closer  round  his  knee. 

"  And  I  heard  him  tell,  with  loving  honor, 
How  the  wanderers  to  Bethlehem  came, 

And  I  saw  each  head  in  reverence  bowing 
When  he  named  the  Holy  Child's  dear  name. 


THE  IIOMELESS  POOR.  3S3 

"  Then  he  told  how  houseless,  homeless,  friendless, 
They  bad  wandered  wearily  and  long, — 

Of  the  manger  where  our  Lord  was  cradled, 
Of  the  Shepherds  listening  to  our  song. 

"  As  he  spoke,  I  heard  his  accents  falter, 
And  I  saw  each  childish  heart  was  stirred 

With  a  loving  throb  of  tender  pity 

At  the  sorrowful,  sweet  tale  they  heard. 

"  As  the  children  sang  their  Christmas  carol 
I  could  sec  the  mother's  eyes  grow  dim, 

And  she  held  her  baby  closer,  —  feeling 
Most  for  Mary  through  her  love  for  him. 

"  So  I  gathered  from  that  home,  as  flowers, 
All  the  tender,  loving  words  I  heard 

Given  this  night  to  Jesus  and  to  Mary,  — 
Look  at  them,  and  say  if  I  have  erred." 


THE  AXGEL  OF  DEEDS. 

"  In  that  very  street,  at  that  same  hour, 

In  the  bitter  air  and  drifting  sleet, 
Crouching  in  a  doorway  was  a  mother, 

With  her  children  shuddering  at  her  feet. 

"  She  was  silent ;  —  who  would  hear  her  pleading  * 
-M  ii  and  beasts  were  housed  ;  but  she  must  stay 

Houseless  in  the  great  and  pitiless  city, 
Till  the  dawning  of  the  winter  day. 

"  Homeless  —  while  her  fellow-men  arc  resting 
Calm  and  blest :  their  very  dogs  are  fed, 


334  THE  HOMELESS  POOR. 

Warm  and  sheltered,  and  their  sleeping  children 
Safely  nestled  in  each  little  bed. 

"  She  can  only  draw  her  poor  rags  closer 
Round  her  wailing  baby,  —  closer  hold 

One,  the  least  and  sickliest,  —  while  the  others 
Creep  together,  tired,  hungry,  cold. 

"  "What  are  these  poor  flowers  thou  hast  gathered  1 
Cast  such  fragile,  worthless  tokens  by : 

Will  Ho  prize  mere  words  of  love  and  honor 
Wlule  His  Homeless  Poor  are  left  to  die  1 

"He  has  said  —  His  truths  are  all  eternal  — 
What  He  said  both  has  been  and  shall  be,  — 

What  ye  have  not  done  to  these  my  poor  ones, 
Lo!  ye  have  not  done  it  unto  Me." 


Then  I  saw  the  Angel  with  the  flowers 
Bow  his  head  and  answer,  "It  is  well," 

As  he  east  a  wreath  of  lilies  earthward, 
And  I  saw  them  wither  as  they  fell. 

Once  again  the  Angel  raised  his  head, 
Smiled  and  showed  the  other  wreath  and  said  : 


THE  ANGEL  OF  PRAYERS. 

"  I  have  been  where,  kneeling  at  the  Altar, 
Hushed  in  reverent  awe,  a  faithful  throng 

Have  this  night  adored  the  Holy  Presence, 
Worshipping  with  incense,  prayer,  and  song. 


TIIE  HOMELESS  POOR.  385 

"Every  head  was  bowed  in  loving  honor, 
Every  heart  with  loving  awe  was  thrilled ; 

Earth  and  tilings  of  earth  seemed  all  forgotten  ; 
He  was  there  —  and  meaner  thoughts  were  stilled. 

"  There  on  many  souls  in  strait  and  peril 

Did  that  gracious  Benediction  fall, 
With  the  strength  or  peace  or  joy  or  warning 

He  could  give,  who  loved  and  knew  them  all. 

"  There  was  silence,  but  all  hearts  were  speaking : 
When  the  deepest  hush  of  silence  fell, 

On  the  fragrant  air  and  breathless  lon<rin» 
Came  the  echo  of  one  silver  bell. 

"  On  each  spirit  such  a  flood  of  sweetness 
Broke — as  we  who  dwell  in  Heaven  feel, 

Then  the  Adoremus  in  eternum, 

Jubilant  and  strong,  rolled  peal  on  peal. 

"  They  had  given  holy  adoration, 

Tender  words  of  love  and  praise  ;  all  bright 
With  the  dew  of  contrite  tears  —  such  blossoma 

I  am  bearing  to  His  throne  to-night." 


THE  ANGEL  OF  DEEDS. 

"  Pause  again :  these  flowers  are  fair  and  lovely, 
Radiant  in  their  perfume  and  their  bloom ; 

But  not  far  from  where  you  plucked  this  garland 
Is  a  squalid  place  in  ghastly  gloom. 

"  There  black  waters  in  their  luring  silenca 
Under  loathsome  arches  crawl  and  creep, 

2S 


386  THE  HOMELESS  POOR. 

There  the  rats  and  vermin  herd  together  .... 
There  Gods  poor  ones  sometimes  come  to  sleep. 

"  There  the  weary  come,  who  through  the  daylight 
Pace  the  town,  and  crave  for  work  in  vain ; 

There  they  crouch  in  cold  and  rain  and  hunger, 
Waiting  for  another  day  of  pain. 

"  In  slow  darkness  creeps  the  dismal  river  ; 

From  its  depths  looks  up  a  sinful  rest ; 
Many  a  weary,  baffled,  hopeless  wanderer 

Has  it  drawn  into  its  treacherous  breast. 

"  There  is  near  another  River  flowing, 

Black  with  guilt,  and  deep  as  hell  and  sin ; 

On  its  brink  even  sinners  stand  and  shudder,  — 
Cold  and  hunger  goad  the  homeless  in. 

"  Yet  these  poor  ones  to  His  heart  are  dearer 
For  their  grief  and  peril :  dear  indeed 

Would  have  been  the  love  that    sought  and  fed 
them, 
Gave  them  warmth  and  shelter  in  their  need. 

"  For  His  sake  those  tears  and  prayers  are  offered 
Which  you  bear  as  flowers  to  His  throne; 

Better  still  would  be  the  food  and  shelter, 
Given  for  Him  and  given  to  His  own. 

"  Praise  with  loving  deeds  is  dear  and  holy, 
Words  of  praise  will  never  serve  instead : 

Lo  !  you  offer  music,  hymn,  and  incense  — 
When  He  has  not  where  to  lay  His  fiead." 


TIIE  HOMELESS  POOR.  387 

Then  once  more  the  Angel  with  the  Flowers 
Bowed  his  head,  and  answered,  "  It  is  well," 

As  he  cast  a  wreath  of  lilies  earthwards, 
And  I  saw  them  wither  as  they  fell. 

So  the  Vision  faded,  and  the  Anircls 

Melted  far  into  the  starry  sky ; 
By  the  light  upon  the  eastern  Heaven 

I  could  see  another  day  was  nigh. 

"Was  it  quite  a  dream  ?  O  God  !  we  love  Him ; 

All  our  love,  though  weak,  is  given  to  Him ;  — 
Why  is  it  our  hearts  have  been  so  hardened  ? 

Why  is  it  our  eyes  have  been  so  dim  ? 

Still  as  for  Himself  the  Infant  Jesus 
In  His  little  ones  asks  food  and  rest, — 

Still  as  for  His  MothcrHc  is  pleading 
Just  as  when  He  lay  upon  her  breast. 

Jesus,  then,  and  Mary  still  are  with  us,  — 
Night  will  find  the  Child  and  Mother  near, 

Waiting  for  the  shelter  we  deny  them, 

While  we  tell  them  that  we  hold  them  dear. 

Help  us,  Lord  !  not  these  Thy  poor  ones  only, 
They  are  with  us  always,  and  shall  be  :  — 

Help  the  blindness  of  our  hearts,  and  teach  us 
In  Thy  homeless  ones  to  succor  Thee. 


388 


MILLTS  EXPIATION. 
MILLY'S   EXPIATION. 

THE    PRIEST'S    STORY. 


HERE  are  times  when  all  these  terrors 
Seem  to  fade,  and  fade  away, 
Like  a  nightmare's  ghastly  presence 
In  the  truthful  dawn  of  day. 
There  are  times,  too,  when  before  me 

They  arise,  and  seem  to  hold 
In  their  grasp  my  very  being 

With  the  deadly  strength  of  old, 
Till  my  spirit  quails  within  me, 
And"  my  very  heart  grows  cold. 

II. 

For  I  watched  when  Cold  and  Hunger, 

Like  wild  beasts  that  sought  for  prey, 
With  a  savage  glare  crept  onward 

Until  men  were  turned  at  bay. 
You  have  never  seen  those  hunters, 

Who  have  never  known  that  fear, 
When  life  costs  a  crust,  and  costing 

Even  that  is  still  too  dear  : 
But,  you  know,  I  lived  in  Ireland 

In  the  fatal  famine  year. 

in. 

Yes,  those  days  are  now  forgotten ; 
God  be  thanked  !  men  can  forget ; 


MILLTS  EXPIATION.  389 

Time's  great  gift  can  heal  the  fevers 

Called  Remembrance  and  Regret. 
Man  despises  such  forgetting ; 

But  I  think  the  Angels  know, 
Since  each  hour  brings  new  burdens, 

We  must  let  the  old  ones  go,  — 
Very  weak,  or  very  noble 

Are  the  few  who  cling  to  woe. 


IV. 

As  a  child,  I  lived  in  Connaught, 

And  from  dawn  till  set  of  sun 
Played  with  all  the  peasant-children, 

So  I  knew  them  every  one. 
There  was  not  a  cabin  near  us, 

But  I  had  my  welcome  there  ; 
Though  of  money-help  in  those  days 

We  had  none  'ourselves  to  spare, 
Yet  the  neighbors  had  no  trouble 

That  I  did  not  know  and  share. 


O  that  great  estate  !  the  Landlord 

Was  abroad,  a  good  man  too; 
And  the  agent  was  not  cruel, 

But  he  had  hard  things  to  do. 
As  a  child  I  saw  great  suffering 

Which  I  could  not  understand, 
So  I  went  back  as  a  man  there 

With  redress  and  helping  planned ; 
But  I  found,  on  reaching  Connaught, 

There  was  famine  in  the  land. 


39- 


mil  l  r  S  EXP  I  A  no  X. 

VI. 

Well,  I  worked,  I  toiled,  I  labored ; 

So,  thank  God,  did  many  more; 
But  I  had  a  special  pity 

For  the  place  I  knev.r  before. 
It  was  changed  ;  the  old  were  vanished ; 

Those  who  had  been  workers  there 
Were  grown  old  now  ;  and  the  children, 

With  their  sunny  eyes  and  hair, 
Were  a  ragged  army,  fighting 

Iland  to  Land  with  black  despair. 

VII. 

There  were  some  I  sought  out,  longing 

For  the  old  familiar  face, 
For  the  hearty  Irish  welcome 

To  the  well-known  corner  place ; 
So  I  saw  them,  and  I  found  it. 

But  of  all  whom  I  had  known, 
I  eared  most  to  see  the  Connors  : 

Their  poor  cabin  stood  alone 
In  the  deep  heart  of  the  valley, 

By  the  old  gray  fairy  stone. 

VIII. 

They  were  decent  people,  holding, 

Though  no  richer  than  the  rest, 
Still  a  place  beyond  their  neighbors, 

With  a  tacit,  uncoufesscd 
Pride  —  it  may  have  been  —  that  held  them 

From  complaint  when  things  went  ill : 
I  might  guess  when  work  was  slacker, 

But  no  shadow  seemed  to  chill 


MILLY' S  EXPIATION.  39i 

The  warm  welcome  which  they  offered  ; 
It  was  warm  and  cheerful  still. 

IX. 

Yet  their  home  was  changed  :  the  father 

And  the  mother  were  no  more; 
And  the  brothers,  Phil  and  Patrick, 

Kept  starvation  from  the  door. 
There  were  many  little  faces 

Gathered  round  the  old  hearthstone; 
But  the  children  I  had  played  with 

Were  the  men  and  women  grown  ; 
Phil  and  Patrick,  Kate  and  Milly, 

Were  the  ones  whom  I  had  known. 


Kate  was  grown,  but  little  altered, 

Just  the  sunburnt,  rosy  face, 
With  its  merry  smile,  whose  shining 

Seemed  to  light  the  darkest  place. 
But  all,  young  and  old,  held  Milly 

As  their  dearest  and  their  best, 
From  the  baby  orphan-sisters 

Whom  she  hushed  upon  her  breast,— 
She  it  was  who  bore  the  burdens, 

Love  and  sorrow,  for  the  rest. 

XI. 

Yes,  I  knew  the  tall  slight  figure, 
And  the  face  so  pale  and  fair, 

Crowned  with  long,  long  plaited  tresses 
Of  her  shining  yellow  hair ; 


39* 


MILL  F  S  EXP  I  A  TION. 

She  was  very  calm  and  tender, 

Warm  and  brave,  yet  just  and  wise, 

Meeting  grief  with  tender  pity, 
Sin  with  sorrowful  surprise : 

I  have  fancied  Angels  watch  us 
With  such  sad  and  loving  eyes. 

XII. 

Well,  I  questioned  past  and  future, 

Heard  of  plans  and  hopes  and  fears ; 
How  all  prospects  grew  still  darker 

With  the  shade  of  coming  years. 
Milly  still  deferred  her  marriage ; 

But  the  brothers  urged  of  late 
She  would  leave  them  and  old  Ireland, 

And  at  least  secure  her  fate  ; 
Michael  pleaded  too,  —  but  vainly ; 

Milly  chose  to  wait  and  wait. 

XIII. 

Though  all  liked  her  cousin  Michael,  — 

He  was  steady,  a  good  son,  — 
Yet  we  wondered  at  the  treasure 

Which  his  careless  heart  had  won. 
Ah,  he  was  not  worth  her  !     Milly 

Must  have  guessed  our  thought  in  part, 
For  she  feigned  such  special  deference 

For  his  judgment  and  his  heart : 
The  defiance  and  the  answer 

Of  instinctive  woman's  art. 

XIV. 

But  my  duties  would  not  let  me 
Stay  in  one  place  ;  I  must  go 


MILLY'S  EXPIATION.  393 

Where  the  want  and  need  were  greatest ; 

So  I  travelled  to  and  fro. 
And  I  could  not  give  the  bounty 

Which  was  meant  for  all  to  share, 
Save  in  scanty  portions,  counting 

What  each  hamlet  had  to  bear  ; 
So  my  old  home  and  old  comrades 

Had  to  struggle  with  despair. 


xv. 

I  could  note  at  every  visit 

How  all  suffered  more  and  more ; 
How  the  rich  were  growing  poorer, 

The  poor,  poorer  than  before. 
And  each  time  that  I  returned  there, 

I  could  see  the  famine  spread  ; 
Till  I  heard  of  each  fresh  horror, 

Each  new  tale  of  fear  and  dread, 
With  more  pity  for  the  living, 

More  rejoicing  for  the  dead. 


XVI. 

Yet  through  all  the  bitter  trials 

Of  that  long  and  fearful  time, 
Still  the  Buffering  came  untended 

By  its  hideous  sister,  Crime. 
Earthly  things  seemed  grown  less  potent, 

Fellow-sufferers  grown  more  dear, 
Murmurs  even  hushed  in  silence, 

Just  as  if,  in  listening  fear, 
While  God  spoke  so  loud  in  sorrow, 

They  all  felt  Ho  must  be  near. 


394  MILLTS  EXPIATION. 

XVII. 

But  one  day  —  I  well  remember 

How  the  warm  soft  autumn  breeze, 
And  the  gladness  of  the  sunshine, 

And  the  calmness  of  the  seas, 
Seemed  in  strange  unnatural  contrast 

To  the  tale  of  woe  and  dread 
Which  I  heard  with  painful  wonder,  — 

That  the  agent  —  I  have  said 
That  he  was  not  harsh  or  cruel  — 

Had  been  shot  at,  and  was  dead. 

XVIII. 

For  I  felt  in  that  small  hamlet 

More  or  less  I  knew  them  all, 
And  on  some  I  cared  for,  surely, 

Must  this  bitter  vengeance  fall ; 
But  I  little  dreamed  how  bitter, 

And  the  grief  how  great  and  wide, 
Till  I  heard  that  Michael  Connor 

"Was  accused,  and  would  be  tried 
For  this  base  and  bloody  murder ; 

Then  I  cried  out  that  they  lied  ! 

XIX. 

He,  who  might  be  weak  and  reckless, 

Yet  was  gentle  and  humane  ; 
He  who  scarcely  had  the  courage 

To  inflict  a  needful  pain,  — 
Why,  it  could  not  be  !     And  Milly, 

With  her  honest,  noble  pride, 
And  her  faith  and  love,  God  help  her ! 

It  were  better  she  had  died. 


MILLTS  EXPLLTJON. 

So  I  thought,  and  thought,  and  pondered, 
Till  I  knew  they  must  have  lied. 

xx. 

There  was  want  and  death  and  hunger 

Near  me  then ;   but  this  great  crime 
Seemed  to  haunt  me  with  its  terror, 

And  grow  worse  and  worse  with  time, 
Till  I  could  not  bear  it  longer, 

And  I  turned  my  steps  once  moro 
To  the  hamlet ;   did  not  slacken 

Till  I  reached  the  cabin-door: 
Then  I  paused  ;  I  never  dreaded 

The  kind  welcome  there  before. 

XXI. 

So  I  entered.     Kate  was  sitting 

By  the  empty  hearth  ;   around 
"Were  the  children,  ragged,  hungry, 

Crouching  silent  on  the  ground. 
But  a  wail  of  grief  and  sorrow 

Hose,  and  Katie  hid  her  face, 
Sobbing  out  she  had  no  welcome, 

For  a  curse  was  on  the  place, 
And  their  honest  name  was  covered 

With  another's  black  disgrace. 

XXII. 

Then  I  soothed  her  ;   asked  for  M1II7; 

And  was  told  she  was  away; 
Gone  as  witness  to  the  trial, 

And  the  trial  was  that  day. 
But  all  knew,  so  Katie  told  me, 

Hope  or  comfort  there  was  none ; 


395 


396  MILLTS  EXPIATION. 

They  were  sure  to  find  him  guilty, 
And  before  to-morrow's  sun 

He  must  die.     I  dared  not  loiter, 
For  the  trial  had  begun. 


XXIII. 

Yet  I  asked  how  Milly  bore  it ; 

And  Kate  told  me  some  strange  gleam 
Of  wild  hope  seemed  living  in  her, 

But  all  knew  it  was  a  dream. 
Then  I  mounted  ;  rode  on  faster, 

Faster  still ;  the  way  was  long ; 
Hope  and  anger,  fear  and  pity, 

Each  by  turns  were  loud  and  strong, 
And  above  all,  infinite  pity 

For  the  sorrow  and  the  wrong. 

XXIV. 

So  I  rode  and  rode,  and  entered 

On  the  crowded  market-place. 
There  was  wonder,  too,  and  pity 

Upon  many  a  hungry  face  ; 
But  I  pushed  on  quicker,  quicker, 

Every  moment  held  a  fate. 
As  the  great  town-clock  struck  mid-day, 

I  alighted  at  the  gate : 
No,  the  trial  was  not  over ; 

I  was  not,  thank  God,  too  late, 

XXV. 

For  I  hoped  — the  chance  was  meagre  — 
That  my  true  and  earnest  word 

Might  avail  him,  if  the  question 
Of  his  former  life  was  stirred  ; 


MILLYS  EXPIATION.  397 

So  the  crowd  believed  :  they  parted, 

Let  me  take  a  foremost  place, 
Till  I  saw  a  shaking  figure 

And  a  terror-stricken  face  : 
"Was  it  guilt,  or  only  terror  ? 

Fear  of  death,  or  of  disgrace  ? 

XXVI. 

But  a  sudden  breathless  silence 

Hushed  the  lowest  whisper  there, 
And  I  saw  a  slight  young  figure 

Crowned  with  yellow  plaited  hair, 
Rise,  and  answer  as  they  called  her ; 

Rise  before  them  all,  and  stand 
With  no  quiver  in  her  accent, 

And  no  trembling  in  her  hand, 
Just  a  flush  upon  her  forehead 

Like  a  burning  crimson  brand. 

XXVII. 

Slowly,  steadily,  and  calmly, 

Then  the  awful  words  were  said, 
Calling  God  in  Heaven  to  witness 

To  the  truth  of  what  she  said. 
As  the  oath  in  solemn  order 

On  the  reverent  silence  broke, 
Some  strange  terror  and  misgiving 

With  a  sudden  start  awoke  : 
What  fear  was  it  seized  upon  me 

As  I  heard  the  words  she  spoke  ? 

XXVIII. 

As  she  stood  there,  looking  onward, 
Onward,  neither  left  nor  right, 


398  MILLTS  EXP  I  ATI  OX. 

Did  she  see  some  deadly  purpose 

Buried,  hidden  out  of  sight  ? 
Did  she  see  a  blighting  shadow 

From  the  cloudy  future  east  ? 
Or  reluctant  fading  from  her 

Right  and  honor,  —  fading  fast 
All  her  youth's  remembered  lessons, 

All  the  honest,  noble  past  1 

XXIX. 

But  her  accents  never  faltered, 

As  she  swore  the  day  and  time, 
At  the  hour  of  the  murder, 

At  the  moment  of  the  crime, 
She  had  spoken  with  the  prisoner  .... 

Then  a  gasping  joyful  sigh 
Ran  through  all  the  court ;  they  knew  it,  — 

Now  the  prisoner  would  not  die  .... 
And  I  knew  that  God  in  Heaven 

Had  been  witness  to  a  lie  ! 

XXX. 

Then  I  turned  and  looked  at  Michael ; 

Saw  a  rush  of  wonder  stir 
Through  his  soul ;  perplexed,  bewildered, 

He  looked  strangely  up  at  her. 
Would  he  speak  ?'  could  he  have  courage  ? 

Where  she  fell,  could  he  be  strong  1 
Where  she  sinned,  and  sinned  to  save  him, 

Could  he  thrust  away  the  wrong  1 
That  one  moment's  strange  revulsi&n 

Seemed  to  me  an  hour  long. 


MILLT'S  EXPIATION.  3g9 

XXXI. 

And  I  saw  the  sudden  shrinking 

In  her  brothers  ;  wondering  scorn 
In  the  glance  they  cast  upon  her 

Showed  they  knew  she  was  forsworn. 
They  were  stern,  by  want  made  sterner ; 

But  the  spot  where  Milly  came 
In  their  hearts  was  soft  and  tender 

For  her  dear  and  honored  name : 
Now  the  very  love  was  hardened, 

And  the  honor  turned  to  shame. 

XXXII. 

So  I  left  the  place,  nor  lingered 

To  see  Michael,  or  to  feign 
Joy  where  joy  was  mixed  so  strangely 

Both  with  pity  and  with  pain. 
Many  weeks  I  toiled  and  labored 

Far  from  there,  but  night  and  day 
One  sad  memory  dwelt  beside  me, 

On  my  heart  one  shadow  lay  ;  — 
Light  was  faded,  glory  tarnished, 

And  a  soul  was  cast  away. 


XXXIII. 

It  was  evening  ;  and  the  sunset 
Glowed  and  glittered  on  the  seas, 

When  a  great  ship  heaved  its  anchor, 
Loosed  its  sails  to  meet  the  breeze, 

Sailing,  sailing  to  the  westward. 

Eyes  were  wet  and  hearts  were  sore ; 


4oo  MILLTS  EXPIATION. 

Many  a  heart  that  left  its  country, 
Many  a  heart  upon  the  shore, 

Knew  that  parting  was  forever, 
Said  farewell  for  evermore. 

XXXIV. 

In  that  sad  and  silent  evening, 

On  the  sunny,  quiet  beach, 
Lingered  little  groups  of  watchers, 

But  with  hearts  too  full  for  speech. 
As  I  passed,  I  knew  so  many, 

That  my  heart  ached  too  that  night, 
For  the  yearning  love,  that,  gazing, 

Strained  to  see  the  last  faint  sight 
Of  the  great  ship,  sailing  westward, 

Down  the  track  of  evening  light. 

XXXV. 

None  were  lonely  though,  —  one  sorrow 

Drew  that  evening  heart  to  heart ; 
Only  far  from  all  the  others 

One  lone  woman  stood  apart. 
There  was  something  in  the  figure, 

Tall  and  slender,  standing  there, 
That  I  knew  —  yet  no,  I  doubted  — 

That  forlorn  and  helpless  air ; 
"When  a  gleam  of  sunset  glory 

Showed  her  yellow  braided  hair. 

XXXVI. 

It  was  Milly :  ere  I  sought  her, 
One  who  knew  her,  standing  by, 

Said,  "  Her  people  sailed  from  Ireland, 
And  she  stayed,  but  none  knew  why. 


MILLTS  EXPIATION.  4oi 

They  were  strong  ;  in  that  far  country 
Work  such  men  were  sure  to  rind ; 

They  had  offered  to  take  Milly, 
Pressed  Iter  often,  and  heen  kind ; 

They  had  taken  the  young  children, 
Only  she  was  left  behind. 

XXXVII. 

"Michael,  too,  was  with  them:  doubly 

Had  his  fame  been  cleared  by  time ; 
For  the  murderer,  lately  dying, 

Had  confessed  and  owned  (he  crime: 
And  yet  Milly,  none  knew  wherefore, 

Broke  her  plighted  troth  to  him  ; 
Parted,  too,  with  all  her  loved  ones 

For  some  strange  and  selfish  whim."  . .  c 
O,  my  heart  was  sore  for  Milly, 

And  I  felt  my  eyes  grow  dim. 

XXXVIII. 

She  is  still  in  Ireland  ;  dwelling 

Near  the  old  place,  and  alone; 
Just  the  same  kird,  loving  spirit, 

But  the  old  light  heart  is  flown. 
When  the  humble  toil  is  over 

For  her  scanty  daily  bread, 
Then  she  turns  f>  nurse  the  suffering, 

Or  to  pray  bcs'xle  the  dead : 
Many,  many  thankful  blessings 

Fall  each  day  apon  her  head. 

txxix. 

There  is  no  distress  or  sorrow 
Milly  does  not  try  to  cheer ; 
26 


402  A  CASTLE  IN  THE  AIR. 

There  is  never  fever  raging 

But  you  always  find  her  near : 
And  she  knows  —  at  least  I  think  so  — 

That  I  guess  her  secret  pain. 
Why  her  Love  and  why  her  Sorrow 

Need  he  purified  from  stain, 
Need  in  special  consecration 

Be  restored  to  God  again. 


A  CASTLE  IN  THE  AIR. 


BUILT  myself  a  castle, 
So  noble,  grand  and  fair ; 

I  built  myself  a  castle, 
A  castle  —  in  the  air. 


The  fancies  of  my  twilights 
That  fade  in  sober  truth, 

The  longing  of  my  sorrow, 
And  the  vision  of  my  youth ; 

The  plans  of  joyful  futures; 

So  dear  they  used  to  seem  ; 
The  prayer  that  rose  unbidden, 

Half  prayer  —  and  half  a  dream ; 

The  hopes  that  died  unuttered 
"Within  tli  is  heart  of  mine ;  — 

For  all  these  tender  treasures 
My  castle  was  the  shrine. 


PER  PACEM  AD  LUCEM.  403 

I  looked  at  all  the  castles 

That  rise  to  grace  the  land, 
But  I  never  saw  another 

So  stately  or  so  grand. 

And  now  you  see  it  shattered, 

My  castle  in  the  air  ; 
It  lies,  a  dreary  ruin, 

All  desolate  and  bare. 

I  cannot  build  another, 

I  saw  that  one  decay  ; 
And  strength  and  heart  and  courage 

Died  out  the  self-same  day. 

Yet  still,  beside  that  ruin, 

With  hopes  as  deep  and  fond, 
I  waited  with  an  infinite  longing, 

Only  —  I  look  beyond. 


PER  PACEM  AD   LUCEM. 

DO  not  ask,  0  Lord,  that  life  may  be 

A  pleasant  road  ; 
I  do  not  ask  that  Thou  wouldst  take 
from  me 

Aught  of  its  load  ; 

I  do  not  ask  that  flowers  should  always  spring 

Beneath  my  feet ; 
I  know  too  well  the  poison  and  the  sting 

Of  things  too  sweet. 


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4o4  -A-  LEGEND. 

For  one  thing  only,  Lord,  dear  Lord,  I  plead, 

Lead  me  aright  — 
Though  strength  should  falter,  and  though  heart 
should  bleed  — 

Through  Peace  to  Light. 


I  do  not  ask,  0  Lord,  that  thou  shouldst  shed 

Full  radiance  here ; 
Give  but  a  ray  of  peace,  that  I  may  tread 

Without  a  fear. 

I  do  not  ask  my  cross  to  understand, 

My  way  to  see  ; 
Better  in  darkness  just  to  feel  Thy  hand 

And  follow  Thee. 

Joy  is  like  restless  day ;  but  peace  divine 

Like  quiet  night  : 
Lead  me,  0  Lord,  —  till  perfect  Day  shall  shine, 

Through  Peace  to  Light. 


A  LEGEND. 

i. 

HE    Monk    was   preaching :    strong  his 
earnest  word, 
From  the  abundance  of  his  heart  he 
spoke, 


And  the  flame  spread,  —  in  every  soul  that  heard 
Sorrow  and  love  and  good  resolve  awoke  :  — 


A  LEGEND.  405 

The  poor  lay  Brother,  ignorant  and  old, 
Thanked  God  that  he  had  heard  such  words   of 
gold. 

11. 

"  Still  let  the  glory,  Lord,  be  thine  alone,"  — 
So   prayed   the    Monk,    Ins    heart   absorbed    in 
praise : 

"  Thine  be  the  glory  :  if  my  hands  have  sown 
The  harvest  ripened  in  Thy  mercy's  rays, 

It  was  Thy  blessing,  Lord,  that  made  my  word, 

Bring  light  and  love  to  every  soul  that  heard. 

in. 
"  0  Lord,  I  thank  Thee  that  my  feeble  strength 

Has  been  so  blest ;  that  sinful  hearts  and  cold 
Were  melted  at  my  pleading,  —  knew  at  length 

How  sweet  Thy  service  and  how  safe  Thy  fold  : 
While  souls  that  loved  Thee  saw  before  them  rise 
Still  holier  heights  of  loving  sacrifice." 

iy. 

So  prayed  the  Monk  :  when  suddenly  he  heard 
An  angel  speaking  thus  :   "  Know,  O  my  Son, 

Thy  words  had   all    been    vain,    but  hearts  were 
stirred, 
And  saints  were  edified,  and  sinners  won, 

By  his,  the  poor  lay  Brother's  humble  aid 

Who  sat  upon  the  pulpit  stair  and  prayed." 


406  BIRTHDAY  GIFTS. 

BIRTHDAY   GIFTS. 

FOR    A    CHILD. 


HY  do  you  look  sad,  my  Minnie  ? 
Tell  me  darling,  —  for  to-day 
Is  the  birthday  of  Our  Lady, 

And  Her  children  should  be  gay. 

"What  ?  —  You  say  that  all  the  others, 

Alice,  Cyril,  Effie,  Paul, 
All  had  got  a  gift  to  give  Her, 

Only  you  had  none  at  all. 

Well,  dear,  that  does  seem  a  pity : 

Tell  me  how  it  came  about 
That  the  others  bring  a  present, 

And  my  Minnie  comes  without. 

Alice  has  a  lovely  Banner, 

All  embroidered  blue  and  gold  :  — 
Then  you  know  that  sister  Alice 

Is  so  clever  and  so  old. 

Cyril  has  his  two  camellias  ; 

One  deep  red,  and  one  pure  white  : 
They  will  stand  at  Benediction 

On  the  Altar  steps  to-night. 

Effie,  steady  little  Effie, 

Stitching  many  an  hour  away, 

She  has  clothed  a  little  orphan 
All  in  honor  of  to-day. 


BIRTHDAY  GIFTS.  407 

With  the  skill  the  good  Nuns  taught  her 

Angela  herself  has  made 
Two  tall  stems  of  sueh  real  lilies, 

They  do  all  but  smell  —  and  fade. 

Then  with  look  of  grave  importance 

Comes  our  quiet  little  Paul, 
With  the  myrtle  from  his  garden :  — 

He  himself  is  not  as  tall. 

Even  Baby  Agnes,  kneeling 

With  half  shy,  half  solemn  air, 
Held  up  one  sweet  rose  to  Mary, 

Lisping  out  her  tiny  prayer. 

Well,  my  Minnie,  say,  how  was  it  ? 

Shall  I  guess  ?     I  think  I  know 
All  the  griefs.     Well,  I  will  count  them  :  — 

First,  your  rose-tree  would  not  blow; 

Then  the  fines  have  been  so  many 

All  the  pennies  melt  away ; 
Then  for  work  —  I  know  my  Minnie 

Cares  so  very  much  for  play, 

That  these  little  clumsy  fingers 
Scarcely  yet  have  learnt  to  sew, 

Still  less  all  the  skilful  fancies 
Angela  and  Alice  know. 

Yet  my  Minnie  can't  be  treated 

Quite  as  Baby  was  to-day, 
When  Mamma  or  Alice  gave  her 

Something  just  to  give  away. 


408  BIRTHDAY  GIFTS. 

Well,  my  darling,  there  are  many 
Who  have  neither  time  nor  skill, 

Gold  nor  silver,  yet  they  offer 
Gifts  to  Mary  if  they  will. 

There  are  ways  —  Our  Lady  knows  them, 
And  Her  children  all  should  know 

How  to  find  a  flower  for  Mary 
Underneath  the  deepest  snow  ; 

How  to  make  a  lovely  garland, 
"Winter  though  it  be  and  cold  ; 

How  to  buy  the  rarest  offering, 

Costing  —  something  —  but  not  gold  ; 

How  to  buy,  and  buy  it  dearly, 
Gifts  that  She  will  love  to  take ; 

Nor  to  grudge  the  cost,  but  give  it 
Cheerfully  for  Mary's  sake. 

Does  that  seem  so  strange,  my  darling  ? 

Nay  dear,  it  is  nothing  new  ; 
All  can  give  Her  noble  presents,  — 

Shall  I  tell  you  of  a  few  1 

What  were  those  the  Magi  offered, 

Frankincense  and  gold  and  myrrh  :  — 

Minnie  thinks  that  Saints  and  Monarchs 
Are  quite  different  from  her ! 

.  .  .  Sometimes  it  is  hard  to  listen 

To  a  word  unkind  or  cold 
And  to  smile  a  loving  answer : 

Do  it  —  and  you  give  Her  gold. 


BIRTHDAY  GIFTS.  4.09 

Thoughts  of  Her  in  work  or  playtime, 
Those  small  grains  of  incense  rare, 

Cast  upon  a  burning  censer, 

Rise  in  perfumed  clouds  of  prayer. 

There  are  sometimes  hitter  fancies, 

Little  murmurs  that  will  stir 
Even  a  loving  heart :  —  hut  crush  them 

And  you  give  Our  Lady  myrrh. 

Give  vour  little  crosses  to  her, 

Which  each  day,  each  hour  befall ; 

They  remind  Her  of  Her  Jesus, 
So  she  loves  them  best  of  all. 

Some  seem  very  poor  and  worthless, 

Yet  however  small  and  slight, 
Given  to  her  by  one  who  loves  her, 

They  are  precious  in  her  sight. 

One  may  be  so  hard  to  carry 

That  vour  hands  will  bleed  and  smart :  — 
Go  and  take  it  to  Her  Altar, 

Go  and  place  it  in  her  heart ; 

Check  your  tears  and  try  to  love  it, 

Love  it  as  His  sacred  will : 
So  you  set  the  cross  with  jewels, 

Make  your  gift  more  precious  still. 

There  are  souls  —  alas  !  too  many  — 

Who  forget  that  Jesus  died, 
Who  forget  that  sin  forever 

Is  the  lance  to  pierce  His  side. 


410  BIRTHDAY  GIFTS. 

Hearts  that  turn  away  from  Jesus ; 

Sins  that  scourge  Him  and  betray ; 
Cold  and  cruel  souls  that  even 

Crucify  Him  day  by  day. 

Ah  !  poor  sinners  !  Mary  loves  them, 
And  she  knows  no  royal  gem 

Half  so  noble  or  so  precious 

As  the  prayer  you  say  for  them ; 

Or  resign  some  little  pleasure, 
Give  it  her  instead,  to  win 

Help  for  some  poor  soul  in  peril, 
Grace  for  some  poor  heart  in  sin, 

Mercy  for  poor  sinners,  —  pleading 
For  their  souls  as  for  your  own  j  — 

So  you  make  a  crown  of  jewels 
Fit  to  lay  before  Her  throne. 

Flowers  —  why  I  should  never  finish 
If  I  tried  to  count  them  too,  — 

If  I  told  you  how  to  know  them, 
In  what  garden-plot  they  grew. 

Yet  I  think  my  darling  guesses 
They  are  emblems,  and  we  trace 

In  the  rarest  and  the  loveliest 
Acts  of  love  and  gifts  of  grace. 

Modest  violets,  meek  snowdrops, 
Holy  lilies  white  and  pure, 

Faithful  tendrils  —  herbs  for  healing  — 
If  they  only  would  endure  ! 


A   BEGGAR.  411 

And  they  will,  —  such  flowers  fade  not ; 

They  are  not  of  mortal  birth  ; 
And  such  garlands  given  to  Mary 

Die  not  like  the  gifts  of  Earth. 

Well,  my  Minnie,  can  you  tell  me 

You  have  still  no  gift  to  lay 
At  the  feet  of  your  dear  Mother, 

Any  hour,  any  day  ? 

Give  Her  now  —  to-day  —  forever, 

One  great  gift,  —  the  first,  the  best, — 

Give  your  heart  to  Her,  and  ask  her 
How  to  give  her  all  the  rest. 


A  BEGGAR. 

BEG  of  you,  I  beg  of  you,  my  brothers, 

For  my  need  is  very  sore ; 
Not  for  gold  and  not  for  silver  do  I  ask 
you, 

But  for  something  even  more : 
From  the  depths  of  your  hearts  pity  let  it  be  — 
Pray  for  me. 

I  beg  of  you  whose  robes  of  radiant  whiteness 

Have  been  kept  without  a  stain  ; 
Of  you  who,  stung  to  death  by  serpent  Pleasure, 

Found  the  healing  Angel  Pain : 
Whether  holy  or  forgiven  you  may  be  — 
Pray  for  me. 


41  a  A  BEG  G AH. 

I  beg  of  you  calm  souls  -whose  -wondering  pity 
Looks  at  paths  you  never  trocl : 

I  beg  of  you  who  suffer  —  for  all  sorrow- 
Must  be  very  near  to  God  — 

And  the  need  is  even  greater  than  you  see  — 
Pray  for  me. 

I  beg  of  you,  O  children,  for  He  loves  you, 
And  He  loves  your  prayers  the  best : 

Fold  your  little  hands  together,  and  ask  Jesus 
That  the  weary  may  have  rest, 

That  a  bird  caught  in  a  net  may  be  set  free  — 
Pray  for  me. 

I  beg  of  you  -who  stand  before  the  Altar, 

Whose  anointed  hands  upraise 
All  the  siu  and  all  the  sorrow  of  the  Ages, 

All  the  love  and  all  the  praise, 
And  the  glory  -which  -was  always  and  shall  be  — 
Pray  for  me. 

I  beg  of  you  —  of  you  who  through  Life's  battle 

Our  dear  Lord  has  set  apart, 
That  while  we  who  love  the  peril  are  made  captives, 

Still  the  Church  may  have  its  Heart 
"Which  is  fettered  that  our  souls  may  be  set  free  — 
Pray  for  me. 

I  beg  of  you,  I  beg  of  you,  my  brothers, 

For  an  alms  this  very  day ; 
I  am  standing  on  your  doorstep  as  a  Beggar 

Who  will  not  be  turned  away, 
And  the  Charity  you  give  my  soul  shall  be — 
Pray  for  me ! 


LIXKS  WITH  IIEAVEN.  413 


LINKS   WITH  IIEAVEN. 


Ult  God  in  Heaven,  from  that  holy  place, 
To  each  of  us  an  Angel  guide  has 
given ; 
R^?^,  But  Mothers  of  dead  children  have  moro 


grace, — 
For  they  give  Angels  to  their  God  and  Heaven. 

How  can  a  Mother's  heart  feel  cold  or  weary 
Knowing  her  dearer  self  safe,  happy,  warm  1 

How  can  she  feel  her  road  too  dark  or  dreary, 
Who  knows  her  treasure  sheltered  from  the  storm. 

How  can  she  sin  1     Our  hearts  may  be  unheeding, 
Our  God  forgot,  our  holy  Saints  defied; 

But  can  a  mother  hear  her  dead  child  pleading, 
And  thrust  those  little  angel  hands  aside  ? 

Those  little  hanrls  stretched  down  to  draw  her  ever 
Nearer  to  God  by  mother  love  :  —  wc  all 

Are  blind  and  weak,  yet  surely  she  can  never, 
With  such  a  stake  in  Heaven,  fail  or  fall. 

She  knows  that  when  the  mighty  Angels  raise 
Chorus  in  Heaven,  one  little  silver  tone 

Is  hers  forever,  that  one  little  praise, 
One  little  happy  voice,  is  all  her  own. 

We  may  not  see  her  sacred  crown  of  honor, 
But  all  the  Angels  flitting  to  and  fro 


4H 


HOMELESS. 


Pause  smiling  as  they  pass,  — they  look  upon  her 
As  mother  of  an  angel  whom  they  know, 

One  whom  they  left  nestled  at  Mary's  feet,  — 
The  children's  place  in  Heaven,  — who  softly  sings 

A  little  chant  to  please  them,  slow  and  sweet, 
Or  smiling  strokes  their  little  folded  wings  ; 

Or  gives  them  Her  white  lilies  or  Her  heads 
To  play  with  :  —  yet,  in  spite  of  flower  or  song, 

They  often  lift  a  wistful  look  that  pleads 

And  asks  Her  why  their  mother  stays  so  long. 

Then  our  dear  Queen  makes  answer  she  will  call 
Her  very  soon  :  meanwhile  they  are  beguiled 

To  wait  and  listen  while  She  tells  them  all 
A  story  of  Her  Jesus  as  a  child. 

Ah,  Saints  in  Heaven  may  pray  with  earnest  will 
And  pity  for  their  weak  and  erring  brothers : 

Yet  there  is  prayer  in  Heaven  more  tender  still,  — 
The  little  Children  pleading  for  their  Mothers. 


HOMELESS. 

T  is  cold,  dark  midnight,  yet  listen 

To  that  patter  of  tiny  feet ! 

Is  it  one  of  your  dogs,  fair  lady, 

Who  whines  in  the  bleak  cold  street  1 
Is  it  one  of  your  silken  spaniels 

Shut  out  in  the  snow  and  the  sleet  ? 


HOMELESS.  415 

My  dogs  sleep  warm  in  their  baskets, 
Safe  from  the  darkness  and  snow ; 

All  the  beasts  in  our  Christian  England, 
Find  pity  wherever  they  go  — 

(Those  are  only  the  homeless  children 
Who  are  wandering  to  and  fro). 

Look  out  in  the  gusty  darkness,  — 

I  have  seen  it  again  and  again, 
That  shadow,  that  Hits  so  slowly 

Up  and  down  past  the  window  pane  :  — 
It  is  surely  some  criminal  lurking 

Out  there  in  the  frozen  rain  ? 

Nay,  our  criminals  all  are  sheltered, 
They  are  pitied  and  taught  and  fed : 

That  is  only  a  sister-woman 

Who  has  got  neither  food  nor  bed,  — 

And  the  Night  cries,    "  Sin  to  be  living," 
And  the  Iliver  cries,    "  Sin  to  be  dead." 

Look  out  at  that  farthest  corner 

Where  the  wall  stands  blank  and  bare  :  — 
Can  that  be  a  pack  which  a  Pedler 

Has  left  and  forgotten  there  ? 
His  goods  lying  out  unsheltered 

Will  be  spoilt  by  the  damp  night-air. 

Nay  ;  —  goods  in  our  thrifty  England 
Are  not  left  to  lie  and  grow  rotten, 

For  each  man  knows  the  market  valuo 
Of  silk  or  woollen  or  cotton.  .  . 

But  in  counting  the  riches  of  England 
I  think  our  Poor  are  forgotten. 


41 6  HOMELESS. 

Our  Beasts  and  our  Thieves  and  our  Chattels 
Have  weight  for  good  or  for  ill ; 

But  the  Poor  are  onlv  His  imatrc. 
His  presence,  His  word,  His  will ;  — 

And  so  Lazarus  lies  at  our  doorstep 
And  Dives  neglects  him  still. 


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